The Price of Failure
by firstcatfish
Summary: There is a bomb threat at the VA hospital and Murdock disappears, leaving the A-Team clueless as to his whereabouts and whether or not he is still alive.
1. Chapter 1

The Price of Failure

Rating: T

Warnings: Angst, violence, non-graphic torture - see more specific warnings at the beginning of each chapter.

Summary: There is a bomb threat at the VA hospital and Murdock disappears, leaving the A-Team clueless as to his whereabouts or whether or not he is still alive.

Disclaimer: I do not own the A-Team or make any money off of them. This is purely for enjoyment.

Comments: This story was written over a 10 day choir tour in April. It has subsequently been pilot tested on another list. Thus, I'd like to thank the members of ATFF, particularly Wallygator and Wendy for giving me their input and encouragement and helping me to make this the best story possible. Thank you to Stephanie, HM fan, and Beth for help with airplane info and Italian titles, and Danielle who helped me find a place to put my bad guy. A big thank you goes to my family who read it and helped me to fix some major plot holes. I'd also like to thank a friend of mine who begged to be written into the story as the Abominable Dr. Phebes. Don't believe it's possible in a serious story? Read and find out. 

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Karilyn Janzen stepped behind the nurse's station with a sigh. Stripping off her gloves, she walked to the sink and washed her hands thoroughly. This had just not been her morning.

Daniel Jones had started off her shift at 6 a.m. with a hysterical nightmare, complete with flailing fists and ear-piercing screams that woke the whole building. She rubbed her arm, gently massaging the bruise she had received when she had failed to move quickly enough.

She had no sooner gotten Mr. Jones calmed down, when Lester Quirney had started screaming that the aliens were coming for him again. At the same time, the door alarm had sounded when one of the newer patients had somehow escaped an orderly and tried to walk out. As she had led him back to his room, the poor man kept pleading with her to take him home.

While she dealt with the "escapee," Ned one of the male orderlies on duty tried to calm Mr. Quirney down. When they had finally got everyone quietly eating breakfast for a change, she had thought everything was going to get better - until Matthew Shorney vomited everything up. She had just finished cleaning up that mess.

It did not help that two of the nurses had called in sick. She was the nurse-in-charge on this floor until 10:00, when an emergency replacement had agreed to come in. So, it was up to her and three orderlies to get the entire floor up and ready to face the new day. She was already tired, and it was only 8:00. And to top everything else off, Murdock was getting restless again.

It had been a month since his last "disappearance," and he was starting to act like a caged lion, pacing around his room, holding animated conversations with himself. He had also decided to be as uncooperative with the staff as possible. Murdock was usually a lot of fun, but if he acted up this morning, he was going to go directly into a straitjacket.

She sensed that he was due for another 'kidney transplant' or 'experiment on the effects of hair loss on the psyche.' She laughed softly at that last one. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, but since Dr. Richter had unofficially sanctioned those 'outings' she had no desire to interfere. Besides, she had noticed that while the Captain did need the security of the VA, if he remained here too long, he actually began to regress, getting worse instead of better. She was no psychiatrist, but she figured he probably needed his time in the real world in order to make use of the time he was here. Still, she hoped the pilot's partner in crime, the good looking conman, didn't show up on her shift. She simply did not want to deal with the inevitable paper work that came with Murdock's jaunts into the real world.

She sighed again as the phone rang. Drying her hands on a paper towel, she picked up the receiver.

"Veterans Administration Hospital, Physchiatric Wing." She frowned when there was no reply. "Hello?" She was about to hang up when a gravely voice came over the line.

"Listen carefully. I am only going to say this once."

"Who is this?" She demanded.

The caller ignored her, continuing to speak in his soft, but deep voice. His next words made her go pale.

"I have hidden a bomb somewhere within the main building of the psychiatric wing. Don't bother asking where, because I won't tell you." Karilyn closed her mouth and instead reached for a pad of paper and a pencil to record everything that was said. She dropped the pencil when she heard what he had to say next.

"The bomb is set to go off in twenty minutes. If you value your life or the lives of your patients, I suggest you evacuate everyone immediately. This is not a prank. I will destroy the building in twenty minutes. It is up to you to decide how many lives go with it." There was a deadly seriousness in the voice that made Karilyn's heart pound faster.

"Who is this?" She asked, as calmly as she could manage. "Why are you doing this?"

The click of the receiver was the only reply. For a moment, she stood in shock before her training took over.

Grabbing the intercom, she punched the button. "This is a code white. Repeat, this is a code white."

Ned came out of a room near the nurse's station and walked quickly over to her. "What do you want us to do?"

The various scenarios that she had been trained for flashed through her head and were discarded. Normally she would notify the hospital administrator of the problem, and he would decide whether to evacuate. But he was out of town today and there simply wasn't time to track him down. Quickly she made a decision. She would deal with the consequences later if this were a false alarm.

"I want you to start evacuation immediately." Ned started to protest, but she held up a hand to silence him. "I know it's not standard procedure, but we have less than twenty minutes."

Ned's ruddy complexion paled considerably, then he nodded. "I'll get the orderlies and get on it immediately."

As he raced down the corridor, she grabbed the phone, rapidly dialing the police and hospital security.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Face rolled over with a groan as the phone rang again. Burying his head in his pillow, he tried to ignore the shrill sound that invaded his sleep-fogged senses. The caller was persistent, however, and the conman finally reached over and grabbed the phone on its tenth ring.

"Hello?" He snapped grumpily.

"Good morning to you too, Faceyman," came a bright and cheery voice.

"Murdock," Face growled. "It's 7:30 in the morning. What are you doing calling me this early?"

"Face, you gotta help me out here." The bright cheerfulness had changed abruptly to an almost desperate whine.

The lieutenant groaned. "What happened? Billy get stuck in the toilet again?"

"No, really, Face. You gotta help me. I gotta get out of here. The walls are closing in. The air is getting stuffy, and I'm about to strangle the next orderly that threatens to put me in a straightjacket. Please? I'm desperate here. Billy hasn't had a walk in ages. Thunder wants to get out and run." He gave a neigh like a horse. "See, hear him? All my pet cockroaches have been dancing on my head singing 'Ring around the Rosies' over and over and over until I think I'm gonna go crazy! Face, please! If you have any compassion at all..."

There was no doubt about the desperation in Murdock's tone now. The pilot must really be claustrophobic. Face ran a hand through his sleep tousled hair and racked his brain for a way out of this. He had a beautiful date planned for tonight and there was nothing guaranteed to spoil a romantic evening faster than a lunatic pilot in one's apartment.

"It's Friday. Doesn't Dr. Richter take you out every Friday?" Face flopped back on the pillow, holding the receiver with one hand and using the other to shield his eyes from the sunlight coming in through the drapes at the foot of his bed.

"He's on vacation. He won't be back 'til next week. Please, Faceman? I promise I'll be good, and I won't let Billy chew on your expensive shoes again. You won't even know I'm there."

Face rolled his eyes at that and sighed heavily. If he said no, Murdock would probably just escape on his own, then show up in the apartment at the most inopportune time. Maybe he could get Hannibal or BA...no, Hannibal, to take him tonight. That thought cheered him up and he grudgingly gave in. "All right, Murdock. I'll be over to pick you up at..." he glanced at the clock again, "...9:30."

There was a whoop on the other end of the phone that made Face jerk the receiver away from his ear. He grinned and shook his head.

"Thanks, Face. See you at 9."

"Don't push it, Murdock. 9:30. Good bye."

"Thanks, Face. You won't regret this." There was a click as the pilot hung up.

"I think I already do," the conman said to the dial tone before hanging up the phone and heading for the shower.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Murdock danced a jig as he hung up the phone. "Did ya hear that, Billy?" he asked the bundle of air lying on his bed. "Face is coming to get us this morning."

Grabbing a gym bag from his bottom drawer, he stuffed a few pairs of clean underwear and socks as well as one extra change of clothing into it. Face always had extra clothes for him around his place, so he didn't need much.

Whistling the tune "We're off to see the wizard," he pulled open the cabinet above his sink and added a few toiletries to the bag. Face didn't really like him using his razor and aftershave lotion, and he couldn't forget his Big Bird toothbrush.

Zipping up the bag, he sat down on the bed and looked at his watch. 8:00. He had an hour and a half before Face showed up.

'Wonder if I have enough time to beat level 10 of Space Quarks," he wondered aloud, stroking the air next to him. Shaking his head, he walked instead to the TV and turned it on. Flipping channels until he found cartoons, he vaguely heard Nurse Janzen's voice over the intercom calling some code or other.

'Someone probably slipped in the bathroom or something,' he thought idly. Turning up the volume, he settled in to watch some Woody Woodpecker reruns until Face got there.

Less than 5 minutes later, Murdock became aware of voices and large groups of people walking past his door. This continued for some time, and just as he was about to get up and check what was going on, the door opened. A new orderly the captain had only seen a few times walked in with a straightjacket in one hand. Murdock narrowed his eyes, all his senses suddenly on alert.

Switching off the TV, the orderly approached him calmly. "Come along, Mr. Murdock," he said soothingly. "Put this jacket on. We need to take you downstairs for a little bit."

Murdock's eyes narrowed further, and he stubbornly folded his arms across his chest.

"Why," he said sullenly, watching the orderly carefully for any sign of what was going on. "I want to finish watching Woody Woodpecker."

The orderly, Fred, Murdock thought his name was, licked his lips nervously and glanced toward his watch before returning his gaze to the pilot a pleading look in his eyes.

"Please cooperate, Captain. We don't have much time." His eyes begged Murdock not to cause any trouble.

"Time for what," Murdock replied instantly. "What's going on?" He could still hear people walking up and down the hallway outside. He put his arms out and allowed the orderly to slip the straightjacket on.

"There's nothing to worry about. Everything's being taken care of. It will be over and you'll be back in your room in no time." The orderly tried to sound bored, as though this sort of thing happened all the time, but Murdock noticed that the man's hands were shaking so badly he could hardly get the straightjacket on properly.

The classic 'Nothing's wrong' line. 'I'm okay, you're okay.' As if he hadn't been exposed to that garbage all his life. He might be crazy, but he wasn't stupid. Something didn't feel right about this whole thing, but he could see he wasn't going to get anything more out of this man.

Shrugging, he decided he'd go along with it…for now. Maybe he really would be back in his room in a few minutes. He only hoped all this died down before Face arrived. If not, maybe he could slip out in the confusion.

Outside the room, they joined a smaller group being guided out of the building by various nurses and orderlies as well as hospital security. It looked as though they were part of the last few groups to leave the building. A quick look over his shoulder showed a nurse going from room to room, checking for stragglers.

He frowned. If he didn't know better, he'd think this was a fire drill. Maybe it was a fire drill only with no alarm. He knew well enough what alarms did to certain psychotic patients. Maybe they didn't want to sound it for that reason.

Murdock instantly began talking, his mind and tongue racing from subject to subject as he eyed his escort out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his reaction. Fred, however, ignored the pilot, guiding him along behind the larger group and glancing at his watch every few seconds.

Abruptly the orderly slowed Murdock down with a tug on his arm. Ahead of them, the rest of the group was entering the stairwell leading down to the first floor. The pilot started to follow them, but Fred instead guided him to the left down a hallway.

"We'll use the stairway down here," he said, a slight tremor entering his voice. "Not as crowded." Alarm bells went off in Murdock's head, and he tried to twist to see if anyone else was around, but the orderly guided him swiftly forward.

"Hey, what are we doing? Why are we leaving the others? What's going on?" The orderly ignored his questions and continued to pull him along until they reached a door marked 'Utility Room. Employees Only'.

Inserting a key, the orderly opened the door and jerked Murdock inside. They were met with very familiar sounding clicks as two men with ski masks stepped out from behind some boxes. They held guns with silencers in their hands, both cocked and ready, and both pointed directly at them.

"I brought him, just like you asked." Murdock looked at the orderly beside him in confusion and concern. Things were starting to get out of hand, and he didn't like that. The orderly was bouncing nervously on his toes.

There was a slight shake in his voice as he continued. "Now will you give me my money? I want to get out of here before the bomb explodes." His voice ended with a small squeak and Murdock gave a start.

Bomb? This was worse than he thought. All the people hurrying out of the building suddenly made sense. He suddenly felt very helpless encased as he was in the straightjacket. He ran his tongue rapidly over his lips, his eyes darting around the room, trying to take everything in.

He could tell virtually nothing about the gunmen. Both were dressed like orderlies, all in white. They were both of average height, neither tall nor short. He couldn't see anything about hair color or facial features because of the masks. The dim lighting in the room made it impossible to even detect their eye color. The main difference between the two was in build. One of the gunman was incredibly stocky, with muscles that reminded Murdock of BA. The other was slender, with a build closer to that of Face. Surprisingly, it was this man that frightened him most. There was an air about him that warned he was not a man to mess around with.

The slender gunman stepped forward and checked the straps on Murdock's straightjacket, never taking the gun off of him. "Don't worry," he said calmly to the now obviously agitated orderly. "The explosives won't go off until we are ready for them to."

While his partner kept his gun trained on the captain, the slender gunman stepped back and knelt beside a black bag that Murdock hadn't noticed before. He unzipped the bag and pulled out a lump of gray clay that Murdock recognized instantly as plastic explosive.

"Did you make sure that no one will be coming down this hall?" he asked the orderly, not bothering to look up from what he was doing.

"Umm, yes...I think so," the orderly stuttered, and the gunman looked up, eyes glittering dangerously from behind the eyeholes in the mask. "All the patients have been removed from this floor, so there shouldn't be anyone around," Fred finished in a rush.

"Good." The gunman looked down, and Murdock heard the orderly give a sigh of relief. "Are the rest of the explosives set to go on signal?" the man continued, looking up at his partner.

The stocky gunman nodded, his eyes never leaving Murdock. "Of course," he growled in a deep gravelly voice. "I know how to do my job." The other gunman didn't respond, so he continued. "They've been short on help lately, and they just hired several new orderlies, so it wasn't hard to move around without being challenged. When we're done, there won't be nothing left of this building."

Murdock's mind was moving in super fast forward. These men wanted him for some reason, that much was obvious. And it sounded like they were going to blow up the entire hospital as well.

His mind raced rapidly through possible escape plans. There was only one gun on him now. The door behind him opened outward. If he could move fast enough, he could avoid the gun and hit the door running. He tried to remember if it had latched behind them when they came in. If it had, he wouldn't be able to get out and would probably be in worse trouble than before. Besides, the traitorous orderly was still holding his right arm in a tight grip. He shifted slightly as he considered the possibility of twisting sharply enough to throw the orderly into the standing gunman.

"I wouldn't try anything if I were you, Captain Murdock," the gunman kneeling on the floor said quietly. His dark eyes, almost completely hidden in shadow gazed at the pilot menacingly. "My partner doesn't need that gun to make sure you cooperate, and in fact considers most weapons to be nuisances." Murdock looked at the stocky gunman and could swear that the man was smiling under the mask. His eyes, however, gazed back impassively.

"If you cooperate, everything will be over very soon," the slender gunman continued.

"Over." Murdock snorted, speaking for the first time. "Well, if you are planning to blow us all up with that little bomb there, I'd rather you just shoot me. It'd be a lot cleaner that way. I'd like to know who you are and why you want me dead before I go, though."

There was a deep chuckle as the man kneeling next to the bag stood up. "Whatever gave you the idea that we wanted to kill you, Captain?" Murdock breathed heavily through his nose and eyed the gunman from the corner of his eyes as he turned his head partially away. He had guessed that the men were not going to kill him, but he wanted to get them talking, to figure out what they did want and why he was a part of it.

The slender gunman rose slowly to his feet as he continued. "I'm afraid that although you may want to die before this is all over, only one of us will be going to the Great Beyond today." Without any hesitation, the man raised his gun and shot the orderly next to Murdock squarely between the eyes.

Murdock felt the orderly jerk. There was a look of shocked surprise on the man's face as his grip on Murdock's arm slowly loosened. He sank to his knees and toppled forward onto the floor.

Murdock let out a hiss of breath as he saw what remained of the back of the man's head. He had seen a lot of death in his time, many worse than this, but he still felt his stomach clench at the sight. He turned away from the body of the orderly to the two gunmen.

"Watch him," the one who had just fired ordered the other. "I'll finish setting up here, then we can get out of here." Murdock felt as though he was frozen in place. He licked lips that were suddenly as dry as a desert.

He watched as the one who was apparently in charge pulled out several more small lumps of plastic explosive and began to attach them to various wires leading to a black box. He placed the box on the dead man's back and arranged the plastic explosive around the body.

"I guess you are wondering what is going on," he said conversationally, glancing at the pilot before returning to his work. "You see, when this is all over, official records will show that Fred Johnson here went on a vacation in Florida yesterday where he drowned while fishing. They will never find the body. Here, however, all they will be able to find will be chunks of a human body strewn everywhere, and unfortunately, you, Mr. Murdock will be the only patient unaccounted for."

Murdock closed his eyes. This was not good. This was so not good. His mind was reeling with how quickly things were happening. He forced his mind back to the matter at hand. He couldn't lose it. Not here, not now. He tried to think about what Hannibal would do. That was easy. He would keep his wits about him and watch for the opportunity to escape when it came.

"I'm done," the gunman on the floor said, rising smoothly to his feet.

"Turn around," the other ordered gruffly. Murdock silently obeyed, and he felt himself pushed against a wall to the left of the door. There was a soft whisper of cloth against flesh and he guessed that the men were taking their masks off. He felt a moment of confusion before it came to him. They did not want him to see their faces, but leaving the building with masks on would only draw attention, even in the mass confusion that was probably happening outside.

"Now listen carefully, Captain. I don't want to have to shoot you because you failed to listen to directions." Murdock felt the gun press into his shoulder. "I may not be able to kill you, but I can make it very uncomfortable for you. Do you understand?" Murdock gave a short nod. The conversational tone was grating on his nerves.

He felt like making a smart reply, but it felt like all of his craziness was gone. He did not like the helpless and deadly sane feelings he was experiencing now. He flinched as his captor continued.

"You are going to walk straight out of here. We will give you directions as we come to them. We will be right behind you with a gun trained on you at all times. If you try to turn around, we will shoot you. If you try to yell for help or escape, we will shoot you. So, I suggest you do exactly as I tell you."

Murdock nodded again to indicate his understanding. He heard the door creak open and resisted the urge to turn his head slightly in the hopes of seeing something. Before he could complete the thought however, a hand on his shoulder turned him toward the now open door and gave him a slight push. His captors remained completely behind him so that he could not see them, even in his peripheral vision. He only felt the hand on his back, guiding him when necessary.

He decided to obey their orders for now and keep looking straight ahead. These men had shown that they were more than willing to kill, and he had no doubt they would carry out their other threats as well. He didn't care to test their patience quite yet.

The gunmen guided him out of the back of the building and through the gardens. There was no one around, but he could hear shouts and sirens from the front of the main building they had just left that housed the majority of the Psychiatric Wing. He guessed that everyone was congregating out in the front parking lot.

They walked across the grounds, passing through a thickly wooded area until they reached one of several roads that passed through the extensive grounds surrounding the main buildings.

The hand on his back gave him a nudge toward a car with tinted windows parked by the curb. Murdock was so busy examining the car, that he barely felt the prick of the needle entering his neck before darkness began to crowd in.

He distantly heard someone say, "Do it," before he fell forward. There was a tremendous explosion as he hit the ground.

**TBC**

A/N – Since this is a reposting of a story I wrote a long time ago, I will be updating it frequently. So, for those of you reading it for the first time, enjoy the suspense, but don't worry…I won't give you an ulcer waiting for the next part.

As always, reviews and comments are appreciated. I'd love to hear what you think so far.


	2. Chapter 2

Warning: None

See Chapter 1 for all other disclaimers and warnings

A/N: This one is a bit shorter, but it seemed an appropriate place to end it. Enjoy.

**Chapter 2**

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Face pulled a jug of orange juice and some milk out of the refrigerator. He bit off an oath as a plate with some pickled eggs on it fell to the floor with a crash, the plate shattering into hundreds of pieces. Grabbing a dishcloth and the trash can, he began to gingerly pick up the pieces, tossing them into the trash as he went.

Giving the floor a last wipe, he stood and went to the cupboard for some cereal. He found some Cheerios, BA's favorite cereal, and wrinkled his nose in distaste. He didn't usually like cold cereal for breakfast, but it was quick, and he didn't feel like making anything fancier.

He frowned in annoyance as the phone rang. It was probably Murdock, begging him to hurry up. Well, it was only 8:45, so he could just wait.

"Hello."

"Face," there was a terrible urgency in Hannibal's tone that made all his senses go on alert. "Turn on the news, now. We're heading over to pick you up right away." The colonel hung up before Face could reply.

Shrugging, he replaced the receiver and moved over to turn on the TV. He flipped through several channels before...

"...explosion occurred just 15 minutes ago." A big red caption proclaiming "Breaking News" lined the bottom of the screen, but Face didn't see it. He paled as the camera focused on what had been the psychiatric wing of the VA hospital. An enormous fire raged through piles of rubble near the center of what had once been a sizable building. Steel beams and tons of concrete rubble littered the scene, while firefighters braced themselves against hoses, spraying thick streams of water at the terrible blaze.

'Murdock' The thought took his breath away.

A short distance away, a crowd of people milled around in confusion as rescue workers, police, and hospital personnel sought to get things under control. In the background, Face could hear people screaming, and the sound wrenched his soul, trying to drag him back to a darker time in his past.

Images of an exploding chopper with bodies writhing and screaming inside forced their way out of the deep recesses of his mind where he locked away all the painful memories. Fire consumed a small village and villagers ran screaming from their homes only to be cut down by sniper fire.

With a groan, Face forced away the pictures in his mind and tried to focus on what the announcer was saying. He had to find out about Murdock. He didn't have time to go back. He couldn't afford to go back.

"...Apparently, police and hospital officials were warned of the bomb barely 20 minutes before the explosion occurred. Although most, if not all of the patients were removed from the building prior to the explosion, some of the patients and hospital staff were unable to make it to a safe distance before the bomb went off."

The camera focused in on the parking lot where paramedics were treating men and women with large black and red burns and lacerations from the debris. Behind them, Face could make out several men in straightjackets, curled up on the pavement, rocking back and forth, screaming. He flinched as the memories sought to make their way into his mind once more. Pushing them away, he frantically searched among those being treated for the familiar figure of his best friend.

The camera flashed back to the reporter, a pretty brunette Face might have considered asking out on a date. But he barely noticed her looks as he listened intently to her words.

"Although officials are still trying to account for everyone, they are guessing that virtually everyone made it to the front entrance of the hospital due to the quick actions of a nurse on the third floor.

"I have with me, Karilyn Janzen, the nurse who received the bomb threat and gave the order to evacuate." The camera panned to petite blond woman whom Face vaguely remembered seeing at the hospital before. Her pristine white uniform was now rumpled and stained black and in places, red. Her blond hair was tangled, and wisps of hair flew in a face that looked stunned and exhausted.

"Ms. Janzen, could you tell us a bit about what happened?"

The nurse shook her head slightly in disbelief and attempted to run a hand through her tangled her. "I got the call about 8:00," she said slowly.

8:00, Face thought. Only a short time after he had talked to Murdock. He closed his eyes briefly, tuning out the interview. When he opened them again, the camera was once more panning over the scene of destruction and chaos. Once more, Face focused on the milling crowd, searching, searching for a familiar baseball cap and leather jacket.

His eyes skimmed over several olive green cars that were just arriving on the scene. Jerking back, he gave a groan as he recognized the familiar forms of Decker and Crane, speaking with some police officers. That was all they needed. They weren't sure what condition Murdock was in, and now the military was going to make it next to impossible to find out.

Face rubbed his eyes with a shaking hand, the TV a mere buzz through the roaring in his ears. Why hadn't he agreed to pick Murdock up earlier? Could he have stopped this? They believed they had gotten everyone out. He had to be okay. Face hadn't seen him among the men being treated.

He remembered how easily the scenes of the explosion and the voices of the screaming patients had been able to draw him back. Murdock was a lot closer to that edge than he was. He was almost afraid to find out what this had done to his friend.

He tuned out the TV and put his head in his hands. Why, oh why had he waited to break Murdock out until the pilot had had to beg him? How much of this could have been prevented?

He was still in that same position on the couch when Hannibal rang the doorbell for him ten minutes later.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
The world was spinning. Going round and round in circles. Little birdies tweeting discordant notes that clanged roughly against his sensitive ears. Struggling against the weight sitting on his eyelids, he pushed open his eyes. Bright light assaulted his pupils and he felt himself begin to heave.

Vaguely, as if from a distance, he felt hands take hold of him and gently guide him onto his side, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"Take it easy," a voice said softly. "This is just the after effects of the drug. It will pass momentarily."

Panting, Murdock kept his eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the spinning and the pounding in his head to pass. After a few long minutes, he felt safe enough to open his eyes again.

It took a moment for the room to focus. He realized that he was lying on a single bed in a simple room with white walls and no windows. A dresser stood along one wall. That and a chair were the only pieces of furniture in the room other than the bed. There were two doors on opposite sides of the room and a single bulb hung from the ceiling, the source of the harsh glaring light.

Slowly, he focused his bleary eyes on the man sitting on the chair next to the bed. The man had bright white hair and blue eyes. For a moment, Murdock thought he was looking at Hannibal, before he noticed the neatly trimmed beard and the wrinkles that lined the lightly tanned face. This man was obviously much older than Hannibal, and he reminded Murdock vaguely of his grandfather.

The old man smiled and reached down beside him to retrieve a cup. Blazing thirst hit Murdock with the force of a wrecking ball. He felt as if his tongue was swollen from weeks in the desert. He tried to swallow, but the spittle stuck in his throat.

Desperately, he reached for the cup, but the old man slapped away his trembling hands with ease. Sliding one hand under the pilot's neck, he lifted Murdock into a semi-sitting position and placed the cup to his lips.

"Slowly now," he warned as Murdock began to gulp greedily at the water. After several long swallows, the cup was removed and Murdock settled back, his thirst sated for the moment. He was amazed at how weak he still felt. Briefly, he wondered what he had been given. He had never known a drug to affect him like this.

"Who..." he cleared his throat and tried again. "Who are you? Where am I?" His memories seemed all fuzzy and mixed up, like a box of puzzle pieces that had been dumped out on a table. He vaguely remembered an explosion, but his entire life had been filled with explosions, so that was nothing new. He looked curiously at the old man and tried to remember how he had gotten here, and where here was.

The old man laughed, and the deep chuckle again reminded Murdock of his grandfather. "You are at my place and your new home. Where does not matter. As for who I am...you may call me, Padron Clemente."

Murdock's mind began to whirl again and he decided to focus on the last thing he had heard. "Padron? 'Scuse me, mister, but I'm no slave and I don't call anyone master. And what do you mean my new home? I live at the VA." He felt slightly angry that he couldn't organize his thoughts, and he wasn't getting any clear answers.

The old man shrugged. "You may call me Signor or Mr. Clemente then, if you prefer. 'Master' is simply used to designate my place as the head of the household." He sounded as though he were allowing a spoiled child to have his way and Murdock flushed. This man had shown him nothing but kindness, and he realized his words must have sounded petulant and rude.

He shifted uncomfortably in the silence. Somehow the man's dignified posture demanded something of an apology. "Sorry," he said haltingly. "I guess my head is still fuzzy." The old man nodded his head, whether in understanding or acceptance of the apology, Murdock couldn't tell.

After a moment more of awkward silence, Murdock decided to try another question. So far he had managed to learn nothing about where he was or why. He decided the why was the most important.

"Why am I here?"

"Ah, I was wondering how long it would take you to get to that." Mr. Clemente smiled as if Murdock had made his day by asking that question.

"So, what's the answer?" Although the spinning had left his head, it seemed to have found its way to his stomach. His insides were churning wildly, and if things didn't change quickly, he sensed he was well on his way to a full blown panic attack. He concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths while he watched his 'host' carefully.

Mr. Clemente stood and held out his hand. "The effects of the drug should have mostly worn off by now. If you feel strong enough, I will show you why I went to the trouble of bringing you here."

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Colonel Decker looked over the rubble of what had once been the main building of the psychiatric wing of the VA Hospital. Red and yellow tape surrounded the site, indicating that the grounds were restricted to authorized investigative personnel. All patients and care takers had been moved to another section of the hospital.

The fire that had raged near the center of the building had long since been put out, though smoke still drifted up from a few places. Police and firefighters now sifted through the rubble, searching for the sources of the explosion. They had already located the remains of two large-sized bombs on opposite sides of the building.

A terrible fury burned within him. The ones who lived here were the wounded of his country, a country he loved dearly. They deserved honor and respect, not this. Although the flying debris had killed only two and wounded seven others, the psychological repercussions to men scarred by the explosions, pain and death of war could not be evaluated.

He remembered the patients screaming hysterically when he had arrived on the scene. Nurses and orderlies, still shaken themselves by the blast had been scurrying around, trying to calm them, but the confusion and chaos had not subsided for a long time.

He closed his eyes. The darkness gave way to screams and remembered gunfire from another time. Explosions ripped through underbrush too wet to catch fire. Shadows moved in the darkness, each one a potential threat, each one a potential target.

Shaking his head viciously, he sought to banish the memories from his tours in Vietnam. That time was over. It was not now. Opening his eyes, he once again surveyed the damage. Then again, maybe that time wasn't so far away.

His mind drifted back to the one still unaccounted for, the one he had a personal interest in. Captain H.M. Murdock. Decker gave a small sigh. A nurse on duty at the time of the explosion had confirmed that Murdock had been in the hospital that morning, but none of the staff remembered getting him out. That meant that unless he had escaped and set off on his own, which was not unbelievable, he was most probably...

A shout from one of the firefighters in the middle of the rubble jerked his attention back. He began to climb rapidly over the debris toward the group of officers and firefighters that had congregated around something on the ground. As he approached, the group split up and began to fan out around the area, searching closely for something. Some carried plastic bags and knelt occasionally to place something in them.

"What's going on? What have you found?" he demanded of a police officer nearest him. The officer, a captain, turned to face Decker.

"We believe we've found the source of another bomb," the officer said grimly. "We found bits of plastic explosive and..." the officer trailed off, looking at the ground instead of at Decker.

"Found what, son?" the colonel asked, his gravelly voice softening as he sensed the other's discomfort.

"We found what might possibly be human remains."

"You found a body?" Decker asked in some surprise. "This close to one of the blasts?"

"No sir," the captain replied, glancing back at where the men were still scanning the wreckage. "We didn't find anything large enough to be called a body. Just..." he gulped, "...pieces. The explosion and the fire afterward seemed to have destroyed most of the remains, but there are still..."

Decker nodded slowly. "I understand," and he did understand. He had seen men literally blown to bits in Nam. This officer wasn't old enough to have seen the horrors of that war. No wonder he was queasy. Decker felt a little queasy himself, and he hadn't even seen the body, just the memories. He closed his eyes briefly before once again looking at the young officer.

"Good job, son. Just collect what you can." He turned to walk away, but the captain called after him.

"What are you going to be doing?" There was a slight note of challenge in his tone that made Decker stiffen. The colonel might have been placed in charge of this investigation by the army, but there was still some tension between his men and the LAPD working on the case. He turned and pinned the officer down with his piercing blue eyes. They locked gazes for a long moment before the officer turned his eyes away.

Decker eyed the man, no the boy, contemptuously. The veterans who had lived here had been and still were a special part of the military, and the military took care of its own. He resented the insinuation that he was doing nothing. Sighing, he forced himself to relax. There was no way the kid could understand what was really going on here.

"I'm going to report what you found to the hospital board and to my superiors. Then I'm going to find the slime that did this." There was a grim note of promise in the statement. The officer shivered slightly, then nodded, turning back to the investigation team.

Decker began to head back to his car to make the call, when something caught his eye. He looked intently at a grove of trees about a block away from the site and all the emergency and investigative personnel gathered there. Even a few reporters still lingered about, although a pair of officers made sure they didn't get in the way. That wasn't what had caught his attention, though.

He could have sworn he saw the sun reflecting off glass. He narrowed his eyes as the flash came again, and he caught a glimpse of what looked like a black vehicle hidden behind the trees.

Suddenly, he knew. Something in his gut told him that it was the A-Team there watching. He glanced around him. Most of his men had left the scene long ago on various assignments. There was only one car left. He thought about getting in the car and calling for backup, when his eyes strayed back to the decimated building.

Unbidden, pictures began to form once more in his mind, memories of a time past. Young men and boys, barely out of their teens. His friends and companions that he'd been unable to save. Quietly, he looked back at the van. If Murdock was alive, somehow Decker knew he would be right there in that van. If he wasn't...

Before he knew it, he found himself walking toward the concealed vehicle.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Warnings: None

See chapter 1 for disclaimers and further information.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

"Hannibal!"

"I know, BA. I see him."

"Shouldn't we get outta here, man?"

Hannibal studied the approaching man, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched, head lowered in thought. Then he glanced back at his second-in-command.

Face was sitting back in his seat, staring blankly into space. The conman had barely spoken a word since they had picked him up that morning. Just enough to tell them that he had planned to take Murdock out of the VA today. The fact that they had been unable to find out anything about their friend's location or condition had not helped anything. A fear was beginning to grow in all of their hearts that made it difficult to breathe or speak.

Why hadn't Murdock called or found another way to let them know he was all right? He tried to tell himself that the hospital was probably keeping all the patients on short reins. There was no way for the pilot to let them know. The feeling in the pit of his stomach refused to go away, though.

The kid was blaming himself, Hannibal knew. He also knew that at the moment, there was nothing he could say or do that would convince Face that it wasn't his fault.

He studied the approaching man once more. They needed to know more, first, before they could do anything, and here was a man who could tell them. His enemy, yet the only one who could let them know for sure.

"Let him come, BA. It doesn't look like he's alerted anyone, and he's alone. Let's see what he wants." The big, black sergeant gave his commander a worried look. He prepared the van to move out in an instant, but as yet made no move to put the vehicle in gear.

As Decker approached, he looked first at BA before crossing in front of the van to face Hannibal's window.

"Smith."

"Decker."

The greeting was minimal with the barest of nods on both sides. Hannibal heard a sound behind him and almost smiled, realizing that Face was finally taking an interest in the situation. His eyes never left his adversary's though.

Decker broke eye contact first. His gaze swept the interior of the van. There was a fleeting look of disappointment on his face that made Hannibal's stomach clench.

"What do you want, Decker?" Hannibal's voice came out harsher than he expected, but he did not stop there. "Why aren't you calling backup and chasing us right now?"

There was a moment of hesitation that made Hannibal wonder if he had already called for backup.

"I almost did." Decker's gravelly voice halted as he seemed to search for the right words. "I came to talk...Because I understand and...because I think you have the right to know what is going on." The last words came out in a rush, and he looked at Hannibal sideways as if trying to gauge his reaction. Hannibal kept his face blank, though he felt something screaming inside of him. He nodded for the army colonel to continue.

"The investigative team has determined that there was more than one bomb that destroyed the building. They just found the remains of another one, much smaller than the others..." he looked past the van at the mound of rubble that had once been a hospital. "They also found small pieces of what they believe to be human remains."

He paused and looked Hannibal directly in the eye. "I have no proof that Captain Murdock has been working with you all these years. But even if he was not, I know he was a close friend and that you all have visited him at one time or another since 'Nam."

Hannibal noticed Decker's use of the past tense and braced himself for what he somehow knew was coming.

"I thought you should know that all staff and patients have been accounted for, except for Captain Murdock. I admit that part of me was hoping he was with you. As he is not..." Decker's voice trailed off into silence.

Hannibal closed his eyes tightly. He felt as though he had been hit by an anvil from one of those cartoons Murdock loved...no had loved so much. He heard a deep throated growl from beside him and a low moan from the back seat. He clenched his fists and forced himself to pull it together. He couldn't lose it. Not now and certainly not in front of this man.

He opened his eyes to face Decker once more. The look of sympathy on the man's face inexplicably made his blood boil. With an effort, he kept hold of his temper, his need to lash out at something or someone. He needed to know more.

"There was no way to identify the body? No chance they might be..." 'Wrong' The unspoken word hung in the van like Hannibal's cigar smoke, but shattered like glass as Decker shook his head and looked down at the ground.

"I'm afraid there wasn't enough left to identify. The remains will be analyzed of course. As you know, Captain Murdock had a very rare blood type. If that doesn't match what they found up there..." he trailed off as he looked once more at the site then back at the men in the van. "I wouldn't get your hopes up, though. As I said before, Murdock is the only one unaccounted for."

Hannibal nodded dully. He felt Decker's eyes on him, but he felt pulled toward the disaster scene up the street. Decker's voice brought him back.

"I know this won't mean much to you, Smith, but I am truly sorry. I know what it is to lose men you care about."

Hannibal wanted to scream out, ask if Decker knew what it meant to lose a family member, a vital part of himself and his team. He sensed Decker turn to leave, and his eyes returned to the man's back. They still needed to know for sure. He knew he was in denial, but as long as there was any hope...

Quickly he turned and grabbed the pen and pad of paper the team kept near the phone and scribbled the van's number on it. BA would have his hide for this, but they could always get the number changed after this was all over. 'If this is ever over,' a part of him echoed softly. Ignoring it, he jumped out of the van and strode after his nemesis.

"Decker." The colonel stopped and turned, waiting for Hannibal to approach. Hannibal silently handed Decker the slip of paper. Decker looked at the number then up at Hannibal, questioningly.

"It's the number where you can reach us when..." he stopped, unable to continue, but Decker nodded, slipped the paper into his pocket and walked away. Hannibal watched him go for a moment, then returned to the van and what was left of his team.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
Murdock swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was then that he noticed he was no longer wearing his own clothes. Instead, he was dressed in something resembling a uniform, consisting of a pair of light gray pants with a black belt and a matching gray T-shirt. A pair of black wings with the name 'Clemente' beneath it was embroidered on his left shoulder. Worst of all...

"Where's my jacket?" he demanded, looking at Mr. Clemente in accusation. "And the rest of my clothes for that matter. What is this?" he finished, plucking at the ugly and depressingly plain gray material.

The old man looked back at him calmly. "You will not need your clothes any longer. I will provide everything that you need."

Murdock felt the blood rushing to his head. "I'll have you know that jacket has a lot of sentimental value. If you've done anything to it..." His eyes narrowed in anger as he breathed rapidly through his nose.

Mr. Clemente smiled slightly at the pilot's anger. "Do not worry, my young friend. Your jacket is safe and will be returned to you as soon as I feel you are properly settled in and at home here." He turned and headed for the door. "However, for the time being, it will ease your transition if you are dressed the same as the rest of my employees."

"Employee! You have me kidnapped at gunpoint, drugged, and brought here, wherever here is, against my will, and now I'm an employee? Did I miss something here?" The anger seemed to be clearing his head somewhat. He now remembered being taken from the VA at gunpoint. There seemed to be more to it, but he didn't want to focus on that at the moment.

The old man sighed and returned to the bed. "If you will come with me, you will see why I brought you here. Hopefully you will understand that I truly do have your best interests in mind." He raised his eyebrows and held out his hand once more. "I am not your enemy, Captain Murdock."

Murdock studied him for a moment. It wouldn't do him any good if he lost his head. He decided that it would be best to go along with Mr. Clemente. For now. He gripped the proffered hand and stood up.

Mr. Clemente led the way to the door and knocked softly. The door swung open silently, revealing two enormous men Murdock realized instantly must be body guards. They were dressed in the same uniform he was, however.

The two men looked Murdock up and down before allowing the pilot and his 'host' to pass. The two men and their escort walked down a short hallway that was almost as bare as the room they had just left. There were several closed doors on both sides of the hall, but Clemente ignored them and strode to a door at the far end. Opening it, he stepped aside for Murdock to enter first.

Shrugging, the captain walked through the door and took a few steps before stopping dead in shock. An enormous hangar that seemed to stretch for acres opened up in front of him. However, that was not what had stopped him in his tracks. Before him stretched rank on rank of aircraft. The hangar was filled with every sort of small aircraft imaginable from a single engine Albatross, a biwing used by the Germans in WWI, to the more modern F-16 "Fighting Eagle" currently in use by the Thunderbirds.

Murdock moved forward as if in a dream. He reverently touched the bright finish of the plane nearest him. It was an exact duplicate of the jets he had flown while with the Thunderbirds, an F-105B "Thunderchief". With growing excitement, he circled the giant bird and moved quickly to the next plane, a biwing so old it looked as though it should belong in a museum. He quickly identified it as a Nieuport 17, used by the Allies in World War I. It was in top condition, however, and looked as though it could take off at any moment. Looking down the row of aircraft, he identified planes from several major eras and many different countries.

There was a British Spitfire, and a P-51 Mustang, first designed for the British before being brought to the United States for use by the Allies in World War II. Another plane he identified as being Japanese in origin, although he didn't recognize the exact make and model.

Murdock felt like a kid that had been given everything he ever wanted for Christmas. Although he had flown nearly every type of plane in the hanger, there were a few he had never tried before, and he found himself longing to give them a test flight. He turned around in a circle, looking at all of the beautiful flying machines.

He caught sight of Mr. Clemente, who was smiling like an indulgent grandfather spoiling his grandson.

"How...Why...What...?" Murdock stuttered, for once in his life unable to come up with a single thing to say.

"You forgot who, when, and where," the old man said with a twinkle in his eyes. The smile faded as he studied Murdock soberly. "You are wondering where these planes have come from and why they are here, are you not?" Murdock nodded, still unable to speak.

The old man walked over to the "Thunderchief" and touched its side lovingly. "I am a collector, Captain Murdock. I have spent my life collecting various things. This plane collection is one of my grandest achievements. It is for this reason that you are here." Murdock looked confused and Clemente smiled as he explained further.

"These planes are the finest in the country, perhaps the world, and are worthy to be flown only by the best. As you can probably understand, it is difficult to find capable pilots willing to treat these machines as they deserve to be treated."

Murdock shook his head slowly, trying to take this in. "Let me get this straight. You brought me here to fly you around in all of these planes?" He couldn't imagine the kind of money it would take to buy and maintain all of the aircraft in this building.

The old gentleman laughed, the deep rich chuckle filling the hanger and echoing back. "No, my friend. I have no desire to fly. But I would like to see them do what they were made to do instead of collecting dust here in the hangar. I have done a great deal of research about you, Captain, and I am convinced that you are the best person for the job. So, I decided to go to the trouble of bringing you here."

Murdock looked disbelievingly at Clemente. "If you've done your research, you also know I'm a certifiable nutcase. I haven't had a pilot's license in years."

"That is one of the reasons I chose you," Clemente replied, unfazed. "I am a firm believer that craziness is relative. Many of the world's greatest geniuses were deemed crazy simply because society could not accept their fresh perspectives on life. There is nothing I hate more than to see talent such as your own forgotten and neglected by the government and society in general, eventually ending up shoved in a corner where it doesn't have to be dealt with any longer." Clemente's eyes flashed as he spoke, indicating that the subject was near and dear to his heart.

His gaze softened as he looked at Murdock. "You and I have a lot in common, Captain," he said quietly. "Both of us have had our lives and dreams destroyed by the stigma of being deemed 'crazy'. This," he gestured around him, "is my refuge. I own a large track of land here, big enough that the outside does not intrude. I am free to be as eccentric as I like without the fear of others judging my behavior. I offer that refuge to you, Captain Murdock."

Murdock felt himself drawn in by the intensity in the old man's words. There was an almost hypnotic quality to his voice and a feverish light in his eyes. He had to admit that he had always felt stifled by society's expectations of him. That was part of the reason he acted the way he did. Even his friends did not fully understand him at times. They merely played along with what they saw as obsessions.

Perhaps Clemente was right. Perhaps he needed to escape society's influence to truly find the potential within himself. Looking around at the planes, he knew that if he chose to retreat, it would be to a place like this, where he could fly as much and as freely as he chose. Part of him desperately wanted to believe what the old man was saying. But a hint of doubt remained.

As he looked at the planes, another scene crossed his vision. The dead body of an orderly lay on the ground, large chunks of plastic explosive rigged around him. He closed his eyes, but the body was simply replaced by fire and the sense of a large explosion.

"At what price?" he whispered. He looked back into Clemente's confused face. "Why did you blow up the VA?"

Clemente shrugged, as if the matter were not worthy of notice. "I had to arrange it so that you would not be missed. This way, as far as the hospital and the government are concerned, you no longer exist. You are free to live your own life here with me."

'All they'll be able to find will be chunks of a human body strewn everywhere.' The voice echoed through his memory, and he felt sick to his stomach once more. His friends probably thought he was dead as well, and here he was thinking about how much fun he could have flying these planes whenever and however he chose. Suddenly Clemente's proposal didn't seem so attractive anymore. Proposal? It was no proposal. The man had made good and sure that he could never go back. After all, as far as everyone in the outside world was concerned, he was dead.

Looking down, he closed his eyes tightly. Everything was coming too fast for him to process it all. His stomach was doing backflips, and he felt the dizziness returning. Vaguely he heard Clemente asking him something then ordering someone to get some water. It was not until he was lifted to his feet that he realized he had sunk into a crouch.

Someone took hold of him and gently guided him back to the same small room he had awoken in. He was placed on the bed, where he sat, back to the wall, knees curled tightly up against his chest, completely unaware of his surroundings. The memories that had been absent when he awoke flooded his mind now, playing over and over again like a bad movie, tormenting him until sleep finally claimed him.

TBC

Stay tuned to find out if Murdock will take Clemente up on his offer and what the Team will do now that Murdock is 'dead.'


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Warnings: None

See chapter 1 for disclaimers and further information.

A/N – I apologize for the delay in bringing you this update. Another fic claimed my attention and would not release me until I was finished. Nevertheless, here it is. Enjoy.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
Hannibal rounded the corner of the warehouse and stopped, silently observing the scene before him. Face was sitting on the ground, leaning against the side of the warehouse. His head was thrown back and his eyes were closed, enjoying the sunlight that bathed his face and made the gold highlights in his hair almost sparkle. He had a cigar in his hand and occasionally lifted it to his lips to take a drag.

Hannibal was somewhat surprised to see him smoking. Face didn't smoke a lot…generally just to impress women or other marks. He had even complained several times that the cigars Hannibal preferred tasted terrible.

However, the stress of the last few days had marked the young man in other ways as well. There was a pinched look around the eyes and a general air of exhaustion. He had obviously not slept well the last two nights. Hannibal couldn't blame him. He hadn't found much rest either since...Shaking the thoughts away, he moved over to join his friend and second-in-command.

"Mind if I sit down?" he asked quietly. Face gave a small start and opened his eyes reprovingly.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people like that." Hannibal shrugged slightly and sat down beside the conman, feeling around in his pockets for a cigar. He smiled as one materialized in front of him.

Taking the cigar from Face's fingers, he pulled out his lighter and lit up, drawing deeply on it. Turning once more to face his lieutenant, he found him staring off into the distance, obviously wrapped in his own thoughts.

Hannibal struggled with how to bring up the topic he knew they both needed to discuss. Face had closed himself off from his remaining teammates, refusing to speak more than a few words with them since their trip to the VA. The colonel knew he had to get the conman talking before the pain ate him up inside.

Face's voice startled him out of his thoughts. "You know, I keep expecting him to walk around the corner, ready to bug me with his latest personality or beg me to take Billy for a walk with him." Hannibal remained silent, unsure how to answer and secretly glad that Face had brought the topic up himself.

"I find myself listening to the silence and thinking it's too quiet," the young man continued, a slight smile on his face. "Pretty soon, BA is going to start bellowing and I'm gonna have to go save Murdock from him again." He paused before adding in a choked voice, "I just can't believe he's gone." He lowered his head, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw tightly.

"I know," Hannibal replied quietly. "It's hard for me to accept it, too." He slowly breathed out, watching the smoke as it curled up in front of him. There was no way to diplomatically lead up to what he had to say. "It's not your fault, Kid. You couldn't have done anything to prevent it."

"I know," Face said just as quietly, his eyes still closed. Hannibal opened his mouth to continue, then looked at the lieutenant in surprise.

"What?" He had half expected Face to argue the point and to insist that he was to blame.

Face opened his eyes and gave his commander a wry look, then shrugged. "I blamed myself when I first heard what happened, probably for the lack of anyone else to blame." He played idly with his fingers as he looked away from Hannibal.

"I had just talked to him barely an hour before it happened. I guess I couldn't help but think things might have been different if I hadn't waited for him to beg me to break him out. He might have been with us when this all happened. Instead, I was more worried about how having him in my apartment would ruin my date for that evening." He gave a bitter laugh and there was silence between the two men for several long minutes.

"There was no way any of us could have known this was coming," Hannibal stated firmly, yet he toyed uncertainly with the cigar in his hands. "There was nothing we could have done."

Face nodded, but did not answer him, continuing to stare off into the maze of warehouses that made up the warehouse district where they were hiding out for the time being. None of them had wanted to be alone right now, and they all wanted to be near the phone in case Decker called or...Hannibal sighed. In case this all turned out to be a big mistake and Murdock called asking them to pick him up from somewhere.

"I want to get the ones who did this, Hannibal," a dangerous note of anger and hatred had entered Face's tone. "I want to get them, and I want to make sure they regret ever stepping foot in that hospital."

Hannibal nodded grimly, sticking the cigar back between his teeth. "We'll get them, Face. That I promise you. We'll get them." If he could have seen his eyes, he might have been shocked at the intensity of the Jazz sparking in those brilliant blue depths. He almost felt sorry for the bombers. Almost. 

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Murdock sat up with a jolt, his breath coming in short quick jerks. His entire body trembled as he felt the last bit of the nightmare fade away and his confused mind began to register where he was. It was pitch black in the room without any windows…much darker than his room at the VA had been.

He stood up and shakily waved a hand around until he found the string for the light. He gave it a quick jerk and the room was bathed in the harsh glare from the single light bulb.

Murdock closed his eyes to let them adjust before opening them and heading for the door to the bathroom. At the sink, he ran cold water and splashed it over his face. Wiping the water out of his eyes, he looked at himself in the mirror. Large, black bags hung under his eyes. Thick, dark stubble lined his chin, and his face had a hollow skeletal look.

He was amazed at the change a few days and nights, not even a week, could make on a person. He looked away and headed back into his small room where he sat down on the bed. Putting his head in his hands, he thought about the last couple of days.

Clemente had not made another appearance since their last confrontation. Instead, a small, timid mechanic had appeared to show him around and explain the rules.

Murdock was allowed to wander anywhere he wanted to around the hanger and runway. However, he was not allowed to go anywhere near the other buildings or the main house, a mansion that stood on a hilltop barely visible through the trees about a mile away. He was also not permitted into the thick woods that surrounded the property and lined the runway.

Edward, the mechanic, had refused to say what the penalty would be if he disobeyed any of the rules. He would only shudder and plead with Murdock to do what he was told and not make trouble. He became almost hysterical when the pilot mentioned trying to leave. There was something about the mechanic's fear that had sent tremors up and down Murdock's spine. He had not mentioned it again.

He looked up at the place on the wall where a small camera had been hidden. He had found and disabled it within a day of his arrival. He had expected someone to come and yell at him about it or at least replace it. But, although he checked his room thoroughly every time he returned to it, no cameras or microphones had arrived to replace the one he had destroyed.

He knew there were cameras and microphones elsewhere in the barracks and hangar. He had not destroyed them, but he had found each one and memorized their range. In any case, he still felt safer talking with Ed outside.

He found that he liked the short, red-haired mechanic. Ed was shy and extremely timid when Clemente was mentioned, but he was also friendly and quite efficient. Murdock felt as though the little man was the only friend he had in this place. He wasn't sure he completely trusted him, but he was sure that the mechanic disliked and perhaps hated Clemente as much as he did. He still did not know how or why Ed had come to be there, and he wondered if it had been under circumstances similar to his own.

Standing, Murdock began to pace around the room, hoping the movement would help to dispel the feelings of uneasiness and fear the nightmare had awakened within him. As he paced, he looked around the plain, functional bedroom. The bed, the dresser and the chair were still the only things in the room, and he was beginning to hate his simple surroundings. It was more of a prison than the VA had ever been.

He had been given everything he needed, just as Clemente had promised - five sets of identical uniforms and all the toiletries he needed. Everything was plain and functional. The only sign of the wealth of his new 'employer' came when he entered the hangar.

The planes. Although he helped Ed with the upkeep of the planes and dutifully learned all the things and places he could and could not do and go, he had not yet flown any of the planes. It was not that he was not allowed to take them up yet. It was more that he had lost any desire to fly them, since he had learned the price of being here.

There wasn't a night that had gone by where he hadn't dreamed about the hospital blowing up; his friends watching, horrified; and Clemente standing by, laughing, while telling him it as all for the best. And the nightmares were getting steadily worse.

He stopped his pacing and stared sightlessly at the door that led to the corridor and the rooms for the other employees. 'Or prisoners,' Murdock thought wryly. Most of the rooms were empty. Ed lived in the one next to his. Two other rooms housed the guards who followed Murdock and Ed everywhere and stood watch on their rooms at night.

Murdock grimaced. He had been here a little less than a week, but it had been long enough. Despite Ed's worrying reactions, it was time for him to find a way out of here. He started pacing again.

It couldn't be by plane. His first instinct had been to board a plane and fly out of this prison. However, Ed had explained that certain measures had been taken to ensure the planes never left Clemente's land. All of the fuel tanks had been modified to accept only a third to half of the usual fuel capacity. Not only that, but each plane had been rigged with explosives set to automatically explode if the plane passed between the remote control towers set up at regular intervals along the border of Clemente's land. Special navigational equipment had also been installed so that the pilot knew when he was approaching the borders and immanent destruction.

His escape would have to be cross country. That was not likely to be easy either. Even if he did manage to avoid his shadows, he had no idea how far it was to the border, and from there, how far it was to the nearest town. He had no way of knowing where he was or how populated the area was. He didn't even know if he was still in the United States. For all he knew, he might wander for hundreds of miles before he encountered anyone or anything.

To make matters worse, from the howls and barking he had heard at various times during the day and night, Clemente also had dogs. Who knew how many more surprises Clemente had that might hinder his escape. He had been told very little. Only what he needed to know to function and stay within the lines.

For a moment, the task seemed too enormous. A part of him whispered that he should stay and enjoy what Clemente had to offer. It was the job of a lifetime, flying and playing with planes all day every day. He would never have to worry about food, clothing, or safety.

Still, no matter how much he tried to pretend he was there by choice, he would always know he was a prisoner. He would never be able to see the outside world again. He would never be able to make his own decisions. His life would always be ruled by a man he did not know and realized now that he hated passionately.

And then there were his friends. The faces of Hannibal, Face, and BA crossed his mind. He would never see them again if he stayed here; and they would go on thinking he was dead. He felt a pain in his gut as he thought of the men who had become a family to him over the years. He owed it to them to at least try to escape.

He stopped pacing once more and sat on the bed. There were several obstacles, but if he planned carefully, he should be able to do it. There were few places in the world that could hold him for long if he didn't wish it. He also knew that his training with the CIA and later with the A-Team had provided him with enough skills to survive the wilderness long enough to find civilization. He had to try at least. He owed it to himself and to the friends who believed him to be dead.

That decision made, he switched off the light and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
Colonel Decker looked down at the sheaf of papers that had just been delivered to him. He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he tried to decide what to do with the information. He hated the fact that it had taken nearly a week for the lab results to arrive, but what little had survived the blast had not been easy to analyze.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the slip of paper with the phone number on it. He had not promised Smith he would call, and doing so would guarantee the A-Team's interference in this matter. Why his superiors had decided to saddle him with the VA investigation, he did not know, but he was taking that responsibility seriously. He was not sure that he wanted to deal with the A-Team at the same time.

Still, their presence on this might not be entirely undesirable. The Team had led him to more than one slimy criminal in the past. Maybe, if left to their own devices, they would lead him to the one responsible for the VA bombing. Then he could collect two birds with one stone. Besides, any way he looked at it, they were already involved anyway. He almost pitied the bombers if the Team reached them before he did.

He fingered the slip of paper. He could not help but feel that they had a right to know. He had felt the same almost a week ago when he had first approached them and seen their reaction to the news he brought. Before he could change his mind, he picked up the phone and dialed the number.

TBC

A/N – What is the news Decker has for the Team? Will Murdock find a way to escape Clemente? Stay tuned.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Warnings: None

See chapter 1 for disclaimers and further information.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

BA reattached some wires in the van's engine and stood up, rubbing an ache in the small of his back. He grabbed the hood and started to lower it before pausing, the hood forgotten as his eyes fell on his companions.

Face sat quietly at a card table that had been set up near the van. An open book sat in front of him that hadn't had a page turned in hours. The conman held a glass of Scotch in his hand and swirled it around, seemingly mesmerized by the way the light hit the liquid.

Hannibal was pacing back and forth across the building, smoking cigar after cigar. His footsteps tapped a regular drumbeat in the quiet warehouse that echoed the colonel's nervous energy and frustration.

BA looked down at the engine in front of him and shook his head. He was no better. He had dismantled and rebuilt the van's engine at least four times in the last three days.

All of them were men of action, and the sitting around was ripping them apart. They had all agreed that they wanted to get the ones responsible for destroying their lives, but it was as if none of them knew what step to take next. So, instead of moving, they waited; waited for the phone call that would break them out of this prison of uncertainty.

The van and its phone had become the center of their lives as they waited for Decker to call, or even... Murdock. There was always the hope that he had somehow made it out alive. Yet, it had been five days, and he had not called. If he had survived, BA knew the crazy fool would have done everything in his power to find a way to call them.

As a result, none of them really believed the pilot was alive anymore, but they could not let go of hope until they knew for sure. However, Decker was the only way for them to find out for sure, and he had not called either. So, they waited, even though the waiting and inactivity were wearing them down like a stream of water cutting through a mountain. BA slammed the hood of the van down in frustration.

The bang echoed through the warehouse and made both Hannibal and Face jump. Face grimaced irritably and opened his mouth to say something when the phone in the van rang. Everyone froze, wondering if their ears had deceived them. The phone rang again.

Face's chair hit the floor with a crash as he darted over to the van, but Hannibal got there before him. The colonel opened the passenger side door and grabbed the phone.

"Hello." The unmistakable note of hope in his commander's voice tore at BA's heart. He watched as Hannibal's face fell.

"Yes, this is Smith," he acknowledged quietly. Face let out a long sigh and turned away, his fists clenched at his side. BA tried to ignore the surge of disappointment he felt as well. It had to be Decker. Perhaps he had the news they had been waiting for; the news that would throw the Team into action once more. He watched the colonel's face carefully as he listened to the voice on the other end.

Suddenly, Hannibal gave a sharp intake of breath. His eyebrows rose almost to his hairline and his entire body tensed.

"So it wasn't Murdock," he said quietly, the barely restrained excitement in his voice flashing brightly in his eyes. Face whipped around, his eyes on Hannibal. The colonel gave a broad smile and a thumbs up at his lieutenant.

The normally reserved conman let out a whoop that startled BA, but he knew what the young man was feeling. He felt as though the spark of life had been given back to him. His face broke out into a broad grin.

"Of course, Decker. I wouldn't have it any other way," Hannibal's teasing voice broke into BA's thoughts. The colonel was still grinning, the Jazz blazing in his eyes. But abruptly he sobered. "I never thought I'd say this, but...thank-you." With that, Hannibal hung up the phone.

He turned back to face his men, the grin breaking out on his face once again. "Decker wants us to know that he is through helping us, and that if we interfere in this matter, we are fair game." Face gave a short laugh, which Hannibal echoed as he reached into his pocket for a cigar.

"All the human remains they found had type O blood... Murdock's alive guys." Hannibal shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know how or where, but he survived the blast somehow, so he has to still be alive." There was a fervent prayer in his words.

However, something still bothered BA. "If the fool's still alive, Hannibal, why hasn't he called?" There was silence as they all considered the question.

Hannibal looked at his smoldering cigar. "I don't know, BA, but we're going to find out." When he looked back up, there was a light of determination in his eyes that was mirrored in Face's, and, BA knew, in his own.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
Alexandre Clemente stared out of his second story office window. From here, the roof of the hangar and the single runway were clearly visible over the trees. Raising his binoculars to his eyes, he focused on the two men walking along the edge of the runway.

Captain Murdock and Edward Harton. Moving the glasses back a bit, he found the two guards he had ordered to watch Murdock for a bit - partly to intimidate, and partly to watch over him until he learned more about how his new home worked.

He had truly hoped the pilot would choose to stay of his own accord. For that reason, he had ordered the guards to keep their distance and not interfere unless absolutely necessary. However, he had sensed a rebellious and highly independent spirit in the Captain from the first, and he had not failed to notice Murdock's refusal to fly any of the planes he had been given.

A rustle of clothing behind him reminded him of the presence of his chief of security, Howard Plankton, and the reason for his presence.

"So, our dear captain is getting restless," he said with a small sigh, laying the binoculars on the window sill. "Part of me is surprised that it took so long, but I had hoped that I would not have to introduce him to any of my other collections. Still..." he paused thoughtfully. "It is time he learned his place here, and that it truly is in his best interests to stay."

"What do you want me to do?" Plankton asked simply. "The guards already watch him night and day."

Several scenarios flashed through his mind before he settled on one he liked. He thought of the Captain's thick portfolio, and he smiled in anticipation of his next move. "I think I want to test him."

"Pardon?" Plankton asked, confused.

"I want to see how much Captain Murdock is truly capable of. So, we let him go." His smile grew predatory. "I plan to visit the captain this afternoon. Perhaps once he actually begins to fly the aircraft, he will feel more comfortable about his place here. If not..."

He raised the binoculars to his eyes and watched for a few moments before continuing. "We will let him know, discreetly, of course, that I plan to leave tonight on a business trip. Do you understand, Plankton?"

"Yes, sir. I believe I do." There was a note of hungry anticipation in Plankton's voice as well. "Should I alert Sonny to prepare the dogs?"

"Yes, I think so," Clemente replied thoughtfully. "I also want you to tell Mr. Forbes that he will likely have a new...client soon."

"Yes, sir," Plankton replied, shifting as he waited for a dismissal.

"That will be all," Clemente said, raising the binoculars to his eyes once more as he heard the chief of security leave the room.

"It's time for you to learn who is in charge here, Mr. Murdock."

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Murdock sat on the wing of the "Thunderchief" and watched the sun set behind the mansion on the hill. His face was lost in thought as he contemplated Clemente's visit that afternoon.

The old man had appeared out of thin air after several days' absence and demanded an air show. All the formal niceties had been observed and Clemente no doubt believed he had made a polite request, but the fact of the matter was that Murdock had had no choice in the matter.

So, he had given the man his show. He grimaced in distaste and anger. Clemente probably thought forcing him to fly the planes would make him want to stay, but he felt as though something pure and honest within himself had been irretrievably defiled. His love of flying had been...raped. A strong word, but there didn't seem to be any other way to describe what he felt.

He half-turned as he heard Ed climb up on the wing and sit beside him. He turned back to the sunset, and there was a few long moments of silence before Ed spoke.

"Are you still determined to go through with this?"

Murdock smiled slightly. The mechanic had shown himself to be unusually astute. He had picked up on Murdock's plans to escape almost immediately and had promptly set about dissuading him. The pilot had refused to listen, however. Now that he had decided to try, nothing was going to get in his way.

He stared grimly at the house on the hill as he thought over Ed's question. He could almost feel the house looking back. "I have to, Ed," he finally replied, a note of resignation in his voice.

"No you don't," the small mechanic insisted. "Don't test him, you'll only regret it." There was some hesitation before he continued. "I've been debating whether to show you this, but I think I have to. Look." Murdock turned as Ed stripped off his gray shirt. He gasped at the fresh scars that crisscrossed the man's chest, shoulders and back."

"Clemente?" he asked, looking deep into Ed's eyes.

The mechanic nodded. "I thought, like you, that I should at least try to escape. But, he caught me, almost without trying, and did...this." The pain and memories that haunted the little man's eyes reminded Murdock of a time in his own life, long ago in Vietnam, after the camps. He forced the memories away. This was different. This new information didn't change anything…it merely upped the stakes a bit.

"I'm sorry, Ed," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. The mechanic looked intently at him, the shirt in his hand flapping in the breeze.

"Why must you test him?" he asked quietly.

Murdock looked once more at the house. The feeling of eyes watching him had disappeared, but he still felt the house looming in the near darkness.

"I'm not sure if it's me that is testing him." There was a dreamy uncertainty in his voice as he sought to put into words something he only felt. "This is just something I have to do."

The mechanic sighed heavily and slipped on his shirt to avoid the chill evening air. "Then it had better be tonight," he said, a note of sad finality in his tone. Murdock turned to him and cocked his head questioningly. Ed did not look at him.

"I overheard Clemente talking to his chief goon this afternoon, while you were doing the show. He was talking about leaving this evening on a business trip. He won't be back until the day after tomorrow." Ed turned and looked searchingly at Murdock before continuing. "Clemente hardly ever leaves that I know of, so tonight would be your best chance."

As he turned to crawl off the plane, Murdock reached out and caught his arm. "Ed." The mechanic turned questioningly. Murdock wanted to ask him to come with him, but he already knew Ed would refuse. He was too frightened of Clemente, and after seeing the scars, Murdock understood why. "Thank you," he said instead.

The mechanic nodded then climbed off the wing, leaving Murdock staring into the rapidly growing darkness at the now invisible house.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Murdock lay in the darkness, counting the minutes as they passed by. At approximately midnight, he got up, quickly and silently, and prepared to slip out of the room.

He had considered taking a bundle of supplies along, but it would take several days to pilfer enough food supplies without suspicion, and he didn't have that kind of time. Besides, the more he had to carry, the slower he would move.

Just before he opened the door, he paused to take a deep breath. Everything he did from this point on would be monitored by cameras, but, in a way, he was counting on that.

While looking around during his first couple of days here, he had discovered a security room near the employee quarters that had to contain the monitors for the security cameras in the area.

He was not sure how many guards would be detailed to watch it at night, but he was hoping there would only be one or two. He was betting that as soon as the guard on duty saw him on the monitor, he would come out to confront him. It was a big risk, but then again, everything he was doing tonight was a big risk.

As an afterthought, he walked over to the dresser and grabbed a notepad Ed had given him full of details on the specifications and alterations for each plane. Taking another deep breath, he opened the door and slipped into the still brightly lit hallway.

Whistling silently to himself, he sauntered quietly down the hall, ignoring the camera in the corner recording his every move. He passed Ed's room and the rooms belonging to the guards assigned to watch him during the day. He had to make sure this next part was as quick and silent as possible, or he would have more guards than he could handle climbing down his throat.

Opening the door to the hanger, he moved inside. Most of the powerful lights illuminating the building had been turned off, leaving most of the area in deep shadow. Still studying the notepad in his hands, he moved toward a small door that exited the hangar. He would have to go past the security room first.

He smiled slightly as the door to the camera room opened and a guard stepped out, a suspicious look on his face. A second guard followed his companion out and the two stepped in front of Murdock, arms across their chest, intent on blocking his way.

The captain sighed. Two. Well, at least they weren't the size of the gorillas Clemente had had with him the first day. With luck, these two wouldn't be difficult to handle.

"Hi guys," Murdock said brightly. "I was just looking for you."

He noticed that neither bore weapons, only short range radios clipped to their belts. While that gave him an edge in some ways, it also meant he would be unarmed in case of pursuit. However, he didn't have time to think of that.

As the guards exchanged a confused glance, he moved closer. "Have you ever heard the joke about the pilot and the mathematician?"

When he was directly in front of the two, he dropped the notepad. As quick as a snake, he shoved the one on his left back into a work table, even as he whipped around and slammed the heel of his hand into the nose of the guard on the right.

Pivoting smoothly to the left, he stepped backwards just as the first guard regained his feet and lunged for the empty air his quarry had just left.

Unbalanced, he gasped for breath as Murdock's foot caught him in the stomach. As he bent over in pain, the captain smashed the man's head against his knee. The guard slumped, unmoving to the floor.

Stepping over the prostrate body, he went to meet the second guard who was recovering from the blow that had broken his nose. Unable to see clearly, the guard sent several wild punches in Murdock's direction that the pilot easily avoided.

Slipping under the swinging fists, Murdock sent two quick punches in succession into the man's already tender face before bringing his knee up into the guard's groin.

With a cry of pain, the guard fell to his knees. Murdock moved around him and gave the man a vicious kick to the lower back, knocking him forward. Grabbing the guard's hair, he slammed his head against the floor. The man's eyes slid up in his head, and he lay still.

Stepping back, Murdock surveyed his handiwork, panting slightly. "You know," he addressed the unconscious men, "I never did like that joke."

Moving silently over to the door leading outside, he slipped out of the hangar and into the darkness of the night. Within moments, he had disappeared from sight.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Watching the battle through a monitor in the control room of the main house, Clemente marveled at the swift and ruthless way in which the Captain had dealt with the guards. He was glad that he had arranged for two of the hangar cameras to feed directly to the main control room. He wouldn't have missed this show for the world.

"He's good," Plankton observed dispassionately from beside him. There was a hint of respect in the security chief's tone.

"Of course," Clemente replied. "He has both Army and CIA training."

"He might be more difficult to catch than the others," Plankton suggested carefully. Clemente turned to study him before nodding abruptly.

"Very well. We will cut his lead down to half an hour and bring in the dogs at once." Plankton nodded and prepared to leave. Clemente put out a hand to stop him, still staring at the monitor where Murdock had disappeared. "Oh, and tell your men to use the tranquilizer and pellet guns only. I want to slow and disable him. I do not want him seriously injured." Plankton nodded and left.

"That will come later," Clemente said softly to the monitor. Touching it, his tone changed to one of sadness. "It is a pity that we had to do it this way." Shaking his head, he too turned and left the room.

TBC

A/N – Murdock vs. Clemente Round 1 – any bets?


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Warnings: None

See chapter 1 for disclaimers and further information.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Running through the darkness between the trees, Murdock slowed to a stop, breathing heavily. It had definitely been too long since Hannibal's last training session. As he struggled to catch his breath, his ears caught a sound a couple miles back that made his head jerk up.

Holding his breath, he listened intently until he heard it again…the howling of dogs, hot on a trail.

"So, the hunt is on," he said grimly to the dark forest around him. Turning, he began a steady lope, both to conserve strength and to avoid running into things in the dark. He thanked the years of jungle warfare that made this almost easy for him.

He stopped several times, peering up into the branches above him before he found what he needed. Shimmying quickly up the trunk of a tree, he crawled out onto a particularly thick limb. He quickly judged the distance from this limb to the limb of a tree close by and jumped. He caught hold of the second limb and pulled himself up.

In this way, he worked his way from tree to tree before dropping to the ground several hundred yards south of where he had started. 'That should throw the dogs off my trail, or at least stall them for a bit,' he thought with satisfaction.

He began to run again, searching for other ways to throw off the dogs while still continuing in a generally southerly direction. He looped, backed up, and went in circles to throw off the scent.

About 25 minutes after he had left the trees, he heard a change in the yapping behind him. He grinned to himself. They had found the tree he had climbed. It would take them a while to discover where his trail started up again. Still, the fact that they had found it so quickly meant that they were not far behind him. His efforts to confuse the trail had allowed them to close the gap.

He was starting to tire. He figured he had run about eight miles in the hour since he had escaped, and he still had a long way to go. He knew he had many more miles in him, but the pace he was setting to avoid the dogs was beginning to cost him.

Slowing as much as he could afford to, he slipped almost ghostlike through the trees. He cursed the light gray material of his uniform that would be easily visible in the pitch dark of his surroundings. 'Oh well," he thought. He would just have to stay far enough ahead of them to avoid being seen.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Two hours and about twelve miles later, Murdock stopped to rest. Slumping down on a fallen log, he struggled to catch his breath. After a few minutes, he raised his head to listen. The unmistakable sound of howling reached his ears and he cursed bitterly.

Despite his efforts to throw the dogs off his trail, they were still no more than a mile or two behind him. He closed his eyes tiredly. He didn't know how much further he could go, and he was running out of ideas. Still, he had no choice. He couldn't afford the price of failure. Rising, he began to run once more.

He had gone no more than two miles when he stopped in dismay and despair. Slowly, he left the trees and entered a clear space several yards wide in front of a tall fence that stood between him and freedom. The fence was about ten feet tall and constructed of a thin wire linked into squares about the size of his fist. Normally, such a fence would not bother him, even with the rolls of barbed wire on top.

However, his practiced eye found the thicker strands that ran through it at various intervals all the way up. Reaching into his pockets, he fished around for something made of metal that he could use to test the fence. His hand hit an object and he pulled out a small screwdriver he must have picked up and forgotten. Shrugging, he tossed it at the fence. A bright spark and the low hum of electricity confirmed his suspicions.

Suddenly, a fresh wave of howling broke out of the darkness behind him. Looking rapidly from left to right, he chose left and set out along the fence at a jog, watching the base of the fence for signs of a badger or rabbit hole.

With property as large as Clemente's, there was no way he could prevent all kinds of erosion beneath the perimeter fence. If he could find a depression or hole large enough, he might be able to squeeze beneath the fence. He knew it was a long shot, but there wasn't a whole lot of other choices. He quickened his pace as the howling behind him grew louder.

About fifteen minutes later, the land began to climb. Looking ahead, he saw that the ground rose into a steep, rocky hillside with rock formations at the top tall enough to rise above the trees. The fence climbed the hill for a while before turning sharply to the right, skirting the large boulders at the top.

As he paused to survey the situation, he noticed the moonlight glinting off a sign posted high on the opposite fence where it curved sharply to the right. Squinting, he could barely make out the words. "Private Game Preserve and Research Station. Keep Out!"

'Great,' he thought dismally, 'a game preserve. I wonder when the lions are going to jump out at me.' He cocked his head, listening to the sounds of the dogs behind him. They were closing in. 'Then again,' he thought wryly, 'maybe I'm the only game on this property.'

Eyeing the hill, he decided that it didn't look too hard to climb. Besides, if his pursuers caught up with him, he would have the advantage of the higher ground. Taking a deep breath, Murdock began to climb toward the jagged rocks at the summit of the hill. It was then that he spotted it.

Several yards ahead, a large boulder had prevented the even stretching of the lower edge of the fence. At the base of the rock was a gap about the right size for a large animal. With a little enlarging, it could be made big enough to crawl under. As he started toward the boulder, however, a blur shot out of the woods behind him and threw itself on him.

Murdock used the momentum of his fall to throw the beast over him. However, no sooner did it hit the ground than the dog had rolled over and sprung again. With desperation, Murdock fought to keep the dog's snapping teeth away from him.

Rolling over, he sought to pin the writhing animal beneath him, crying out as the beast's jaws closed on his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fence about two feet away. With a burst of desperate strength, he rolled over and flung the dog at the fence. There was a sizzling sound and the smell of burnt fur as the dog yelped once and fell limply to the ground.

Panting, Murdock rolled to his feet, cradling the wounded limb close to him. Turning, he began to make once more for the hole underneath the fence, but the yipping and baying no more than a hundred yards away made him reconsider. He had no time to enlarge the hole before the rest of the pack caught him. Dashing to the nearest tree, he made a desperate leap for the lowest branches.

Ignoring the pain in his hand, he pulled himself up and glared dismally at the six or seven dogs that had materialized at the base of the tree. He sighed as he heard the shouts of men. Moments later, a bright light flashed into the tree until it shone full on his face, blinding him and forcing him to turn away.

"We've got him, sir," a voice called out, causing Murdock to close his eyes in despair.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Alexandre Clemente pursed his lips as he peered up at the pilot in the tree. He felt the respect he had always had for Captain Murdock increase a bit. The pilot had managed to elude them for far longer than he had expected, and much longer than any of the others had. He was also the first runaway to actually reach the fence.

He felt the pride within him grow. Once tamed, the pilot would make a great addition to his collection. It was time to begin that taming process.

"You may come out of the tree now, Captain Murdock," he called, his voice gently persuading and reassuring. "The dogs have been restrained."

"No thanks," Murdock replied quickly, startling the old man. "I like it just fine up here. I think I'm beginning to understand why birds and monkeys like trees so much. Did you know how far you can see up one of these?"

Clemente could not restrain a small smile. This one was going to be fun to tame. Still, it would only be fair to give him some warning.

"You will only make it worse for yourself if you don't cooperate."

"What are you going to do to me? Draw pretty patterns on my skin like you did to Ed?" The scorn in the pilot's voice was unmistakable. "Been there done that, Clemente. You don't scare me. If it's all the same to you, I'll just stay up here for a while."

Clemente sighed, then nodded to Plankton who raised a rifle to his shoulder and took careful aim. There was a whoosh and a slight pop as the tranquilizer dart left the gun and found its target in the tree.

Murdock gave a small yelp as the dart hit home. Moments later, he swayed and toppled out of the tree. Plankton stepped forward and caught the captain's body, lowering him gently to the ground before looking to his boss for instructions.

"Bring him," Clemente ordered before turning and walking back in the direction of the manor house.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Consciousness returned slowly with the awareness of a bright light behind his eyelids. Murdock groaned and tried to turn away, but quickly realized that he could not move an inch in any direction. Opening his eyes, he made his next realization. He had been stripped to the waist and strapped securely to a table.

Looking around him as much as was possible, Murdock groaned again. It was a scene from his worst nightmare. He was in a medium sized room, bare but for the table and a few cabinets and counters along the wall. Worse were the hundreds of implements of torture hanging from the walls and displayed in the cabinets. He felt like he was in Frankenstein's house of horrors.

Some of the torture devices Murdock recognized from his training with the CIA and from his own experiences in the POW camps in Nam. These raised goose bumps on his exposed skin and twisted his stomach. Most, he had no clue what they were or what they did. All looked quite painful, however.

Hearing a door open, Murdock tried to twist his head to see who had entered, but that was completely impossible due to the tight straps.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Captain," Clement's familiar voice sounded as he stepped into sight. He was accompanied by a small man with ferret-like features and small glasses. The man stood slightly hunched over with his hands hidden in the pockets of his white lab coat. Murdock despised him instantly.

"Enter Dr. Jekel and Mr. Hyde," he quipped, attempting to hide the strain and humiliation of his present position. "What do you want from me, Clemente? I'm tired of playing your games."

Clemente's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I am not playing any games, Captain Murdock. It is you that keeps trying to play games. I already told you why you are here, but apparently you decided not to cooperate." He paused, looking the pilot up and down.

"Would you like to reconsider? I am willing to give you a second chance, but I warn you...I never give third chances."

"A second chance, huh?" Clemente nodded affirmative. "A second chance to do what, live here forever as your slave, never to have any life or will of my own ever again?" 'Never to see my friends again,' his thoughts echoed, though he did not say it aloud.

Clemente shook his head, a kindly benign look on his features. "Once again, you misunderstand my intentions. You will find that, if you give it a chance, you can be very happy and free here. Certainly I impose rules, but they are for your own benefit."

Murdock snorted and Clemente's features hardened. "As for the reference to a second chance, I was referring to your willingness to cooperate and live the life expected of you. You will stay here for as long as I wish, but you can choose to do it freely and enjoy it, or we can employ other..." he looked around at the torture implements on the wall, "...methods of persuasion."

"So, basically, I either choose to become your slave or be tortured," Murdock recapped dryly.

"Torture is such a crude word," Clemente said with distaste. "I am a collector, Captain. I collect things like airplanes and dogs. What you see here is actually one of my finer collections. I also collect people. People like yourself, who are not only relics in and of themselves, but who also have special skills that can build upon and improve my other collections."

Stepping up to the table, he ran a finger lightly down an almost faded scar, a relic of another time and place. Murdock felt a shudder of revulsion flow through him at the touch. Looking at the madman standing over him, he knew that he would rather die than stay around this guy any longer.

"Has anyone ever told you that you need your head looked at, mister?" Murdock asked, the revulsion he felt coming out in his tone. "You're crazier than I ever was."

Clemente looked at him solemnly, and the look in his eyes sent chills down Murdock's spine. "You will see things my way, Captain." There was a note of finality to his words. "And I will use whatever means necessary to accomplish this."

Turning, he gestured to the small ferrety man to come forward. "This is Mr. Forbes. He will be handling your reconditioning." Murdock eyed the little man with some alarm. This was progressing faster than he thought. He opened his mouth to say something, but Clemente spoke over him.

"Considering your mental history and previous experience with interrogation methods, Mr. Forbes has suggested the use of an experimental new drug that, in conjunction with his normal methods, will help to break down any mental barriers you may have without sending you over the edge. It is very similar to the drugs used in hypnotherapy." Clemente's tone was conversational, which only served to add a deadly emphasis to his words.

Murdock watched in alarm as the torturer pulled a needle and a vial of some clear liquid out of his lab coat pocket. Pulling the plunger back, he slowly filled the syringe with the liquid.

"He has assured me that the drug will not kill you or cause any permanent damage, and I have complete faith in him. He has never failed me yet. And so, I leave you two gentlemen to it." Clemente turned and started to leave.

Desperately, Murdock called after him, "Wait. Can't we talk about this?" He never once took his eyes off the approaching needle and syringe.

"You have done your talking, Captain, and have made your choice." The needle entered his arm, and he felt the burning as the liquid passed into his vein. "When this is all over, you will see that it truly was for the best." Murdock never noticed Clemente's exit as a red haze began to settle over his vision, and the world around him seemed to dissolve.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Hannibal looked up as the door to the small apartment above the warehouse opened. Face entered with a sheaf of papers in his hands. The conman had left soon after the phone call from Decker and had been gone for over three hours.

"Did you get it?" Hannibal asked, although the broad grin on the conman's face gave him the answer anyway. BA came in from the kitchen where he had been rooting around in the refrigerator for something to eat.

Face dropped the papers on the coffee table and dropped into a chair opposite Hannibal.

"Yes, I got it. A friend of mine is a hacker, and she showed me how to hack into the police files from the library without getting caught." He gestured at the pile of papers.

"Here are all the investigation reports, interview transcriptions, evidence analysis, lab reports and anything else the police discovered in their investigation of the bombing. I haven't had a chance to look through it, though. The library was closing, and Angela was starting to get curious about why I wanted all this stuff."

Hannibal nodded and picked up a third of the pile. "Let's get started then."

Half an hour later, Hannibal looked up with a triumphant smile on his face. "I've got something." BA and Face looked up expectantly. "Here's a guy that is pretty sure he saw Murdock leave the building with two orderlies. Police discounted the report at first because Murdock couldn't be located and the witness wasn't too sure about what he saw."

He paused long enough to light a cigar. "Guys, I think since Murdock has not called, we should operate under the assumption that whoever blew up that hospital has him."

"Why would someone want Murdock?" Face asked, shaking his head in confusion. "If they were after the Team, they would have called us already or gotten Murdock to call."

Hannibal shook his head, indicating that he had no answer. Leaning back, he took a deep drag on his cigar, his mind working over several possibilities.

"Even more to the point, how are we going to find out who it was that did it?" Face continued thoughtfully. "From the looks of these reports, the police still have no leads."

Hannibal grinned and let out a puff of smoke. "That's easy. We question this guy and get a description of the orderlies with Murdock."

"And then?" Face asked.

BA nodded in agreement. "Descriptions won't do us no good, Hannibal, if we don't know the guys."

Hannibal shrugged. "We've got lots of connections through the Underground. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. First, Face, I want you to get police uniforms for you and me. We're going to join the LAPD."

TBC

A/N – So the Team has a lead, but will they get to Murdock in time?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Warnings: Mentions of torture

See chapter 1 for disclaimers and further information.

A/N – Nice long one for you tonight.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Joey Carlson banged his head on one of the pipes beneath the sink when the doorbell rang. He had been trying to fix a chronic leak for the past hour or so and had only managed to make things worse.

"Honey," his wife Emily called from the living room. "It's the police again."

Sighing, Joey put down the wrench and slid out from under the sink. Grabbing a dish towel, he wiped his hands off as he walked into the living room. He wondered if the nightmare that had been his life for the past week would ever end.

Two cops were standing just inside the doorway. The taller of the two, a silver haired gentleman with smile lines around his eyes stepped forward and offered his hand. He introduced himself as Lieutenant Tim Parker and his partner, a good looking blonde that probably made every woman on the street turn her head, as Sergeant Harold Jones. The blonde gave Parker a sharp look before smiling at Joey and offering his hand.

Joey led them over to the couches and arm chairs in the center of the living room. "Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee?"

Both murmured that water would be fine. Joey nudged his wife sharply, and she jerked away from where she had been staring at the handsome sergeant. Joey sighed in annoyance and repeated their requests to her. She smiled in the police officers' direction and hurried off to the kitchen.

Joey shook his head as he sat down across from the two gentlemen. "How can I help you?"

"We'd just like to ask you a few more questions, Mr. Carlson, if you don't mind," Parker replied, smiling reassuringly.

Joey shrugged. "I don't mind, but I've already given my statement a couple times. I'm not sure how much more I can tell you, but I admit I'd like to do anything I can to catch the gutterbugs that blew up the hospital."

Joey's voice hardened. Because of the bombing, he had lost his job as an orderly in the hospital, and his family had already been struggling just to survive. "Have you guys made any progress?"

Sergeant Jones shook his head. "I'm afraid not, but we're trying a slightly different angle now."

"Yes," the older man spoke up. "We'd like to talk to you about the two men you saw leaving with Captain Murdock."

Joey shook his head. "I must have been mistaken about that. Didn't they find Murdock's body in the rubble?"

"Actually," Parker said with a smile, "we've been able to confirm that the remains we found were not Captain Murdock's. That is why we'd like to know more about the orderlies you saw leaving with him. We think if we find him, we may also find the ones who did this."

"You don't believe Murdock could have had anything to do with it, do you?" Joey turned shocked and disbelieving eyes from one man to the other. He was relieved when they both shook their heads. "Good, because I could never believe Murdock capable of this. He can be a pain sometimes, but he's usually the most interesting patient at the hospital. I'm really glad to hear he might still be alive. Still, I'm not sure how much I can remember about the men I thought I saw leaving with him."

"Try. Just Try," the younger officer spoke earnestly. He leaned forward in anticipation.

Joey sighed then shrugged. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture the scene as clearly as possible. "Well, there was a lot of confusion. It was right before the explosion, and we were trying to get everyone out of the building and as far away from it as possible." He opened his eyes and the older cop nodded his head, indicating that he should continue. Jones had produced a notebook and was taking notes.

"I had just taken a group of patients out of one of the side exits and was preparing to take them to the front of the building where everyone else was gathered. I just happened to look into the back gardens, and that's when I saw them come out. I didn't pay them a whole lot of attention. I just figured they were one of the evacuation parties and would come around to join the rest of us."

He paused as he remembered the horror of that day. "Are you sure the man they were with was Captain Murdock?" Parker asked gently.

Joey shrugged and shook his head. "Pretty sure. He was in a straightjacket and didn't have his usual baseball cap on, but I work on Murdock's floor quite a bit, so I'm pretty sure I would recognize him anywhere."

"Okay," the blonde cop said thoughtfully, continuing to take notes.

"I just caught a glimpse of them and didn't think too much of it at the time. It only seemed significant as I looked back on it later, when everyone thought Captain Murdock had been killed in the blast. I just figured I must have been mistaken."

"Can you describe the two men? Try to give us as much detail as you can," the older cop urged.

"Well..." Joey closed his eyes again and screwed up his face in concentration.

"Any kind of details," Parker urged again, "hair, height, facial features, anything unusual about them...?"

"Well," Joey said again, "they were both about my height. One was bald, but had a beard. Dark brown, I think. The other had red hair, worn kinda longish. He also had a goatee, I think." He paused for a moment before adding hesitantly. "I'm not too sure about this, but the thing that struck me about the bald one was that I could have sworn he had a tattoo on his head."

Sergeant Jones looked up suddenly, his eyes bright with interest. "A tattoo?"

"The lighting and angle wasn't real good, so I could have been mistaken," Joey added quickly, but he continued nevertheless. "The funny thing about that is that hospital employees aren't usually allowed to have tattoos, or at least they are required to keep them covered. His was on his head, right about here." He pointed to the back part of his skull just above the base of his neck. "Kind of a strange place to get a tattoo if you ask me."

The two officers exchanged a strange look before Lieutenant Parker looked back at Joey and asked, "Can you tell us what the tattoo looked like?" His voice was somewhat strained as though the answer was the key to a puzzle he had been working at for a long time.

Joey shrugged apologetically. "It was quite a ways away and I only caught a glimpse of it. It might have been a bird, but I'm not sure. I might even have been imagining things." The two men exchanged looks again. "I'm sorry I can't help you much more. I was just too far way," he said again.

"That's all right, Mr. Carlson. You have helped us more than you know, already," the older cop said, rising and offering his hand. "Thank you very much for your time. We'll call you if we have any more questions."

Joey stood up and accepted his hand. "Any time. I'm glad I could help. I hope you catch the heartless cowards who did this."

"I'm sure we will," the older man said with a smile that made Joey shiver. He felt quite certain that the cop wasn't just saying that. The younger officer also stood and offered his hand.

"Thanks for your help," he said quietly, sincere gratitude in his eyes. Joey smiled and shook his hand before showing both men to the door. Watching through the window, he saw them make their way across the street to their patrol car. Sighing, he dropped the curtain and went back to the kitchen sink.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
There was silence between the two men until they reached the police car Face had scammed.

"We need to ditch this thing before a real cop pulls us over," Face said as he walked around the car to the driver's side.

Hannibal nodded absently. He pulled out a cigar and lit it before getting in the passenger side. Neither spoke as they drove around the corner. BA pulled out behind them in the van and followed them to the prop and stunt company where Face had acquired the car.

After the lieutenant dropped off the vehicle, both he and Hannibal joined BA in the van.

"Well, Hannibal?" the big man said simply. He had been listening in to the conversation through a mic he had planted in Face's wrist watch.

"Are you guys thinking what I'm thinking?" Hannibal asked, an unusually serious expression on his face and in his eyes.

"It isn't hard to imagine him as a mercenary or terrorist," Face said thoughtfully. "He spent more time in the brig in 'Nam than the three of us combined."

Hannibal's eyes twinkled at that. Between the three of them, they had been in the brig a lot. "Yeah, and he did have a fondness for explosives."

"He liked to kill kids," BA said angrily. "I knew I shoulda killed him in that bar in DaNang."

Hannibal put a restraining hand on the sergeant's bulging muscles. "It might not be the guy we're thinking of, guys," he cautioned. "We only have a sketchy description at best and we haven't seen Jackson since Vietnam. For all we know, he might have changed or there may be hundreds of guys with birds tattooed on the backs of their heads."

"It wasn't a bird," Face said sourly. "It was a griffin fighting a snake. I oughta know. That man had my number from the moment I stepped foot in 'Nam."

Hannibal laughed. "Understandable, considering the number of scams you pulled on him."

Face shrugged. "He was an easy mark. Besides, he deserved it." He glanced at BA. He had not liked Cal Jackson's bloodthirsty tendencies any more than the big sergeant. "It's gotta be him, Hannibal. This is exactly something he'd do. Remember how he and the rest of his unit torched that village and butchered the villagers just because some old man looked at him wrong?"

"Yeah," BA growled. "Then he boasted about it in the bar, afterwards." He started cracking his knuckles.

Hannibal nodded thoughtfully. He remembered, and Face was right. This was something Jackson would do. But why Murdock? The two didn't even know each other. Jackson's tour ended before Murdock joined the unit on a permanent basis."

"To get back at us?" Face suggested.

"Now? After all these years?" Hannibal sounded doubtful. "It was a long time ago. I doubt he has that long of a memory."

The colonel shook his head. "If he still carried a grudge against us, why hasn't he struck before now? Besides, if this was a strike against us, he wouldn't have gone to the effort to make everyone think Murdock was dead. He would have made it obvious to us that he had him. No, if it was Jackson, he was working for someone else, someone who wants Murdock for a reason other than to get to us."

"The red-haired guy?" Face suggested. "Maybe he was the brains behind the operation."

"Maybe," Hannibal conceded.

"Well," BA said with a growl, "Why don't we find the sucker and ask 'im?"

A very familiar sparkle began to dance in their leader's eyes. He removed the cigar from his teeth and grinned at his sergeant. "That," he said with a dramatic wave of his hand, "is an excellent idea, BA."

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

"I don't like this plan, Hannibal," Face protested. "If Jackson recognizes me, I'm dead meat."

"Do you have a better idea, Lieutenant?" Hannibal snapped impatiently. "Jackson is our only link to whoever took Murdock. It's been over a week and I don't have to tell you what the odds are of getting him back the longer we wait."

"I want Murdock back as much as you do, Hannibal," Face said, glaring at his CO, "but that doesn't mean I have to like this plan."

"You'll be okay, Faceman," BA said calmly, stepping between his two friends and handing Face his watch back. "You just keep that mic with you and we'll be in there the minute you run into trouble."

Face nodded and glanced at the colonel. "Sorry, Hannibal. I guess I just..." He lowered his head.

"I know, Face," Hannibal said softly. "I'm worried about him, too. That's why it's so important we do this. Just get Jackson outside. There are too many innocent people around to go in guns blazing unless we absolutely have to. Get him to come outside, and we'll take care of the rest."

Face nodded and moved away, attaching the watch to his wrist. He smoothed the fake mustache and adjusted the thick glasses that made his eyes look like an owl's. Taking a deep breath, the conman crossed the street to the bar where their contacts had said Jackson spent a lot of his time. He hoped the information they had dug up over the last couple of days was enough to lure the piece of slime outside.

Stepping into the smoky, dimly lit interior, he looked casually around and took a seat in a booth near the door. Sitting back, he studied the occupants in the room until he found his quarry sitting at a corner table. He shivered. The griffin and snake on the bald head took on an eerie life in the dim light and provoked unwanted memories.

It took him a moment to notice that Jackson was not alone. He was deep in discussion with another man with hair that shone deep red in the poor light. The man raised his head and caught Face's eye. The two stared at each other across the room before Face jerked his eyes away.

With a jump, he realized that a waitress stood next to him, tapping her foot impatiently. He quickly gave himself a shake and ordered a beer. As the girl left, Face sneaked a glance at the corner table on the opposite side of the room. The red haired man was still looking at him with a thoughtful expression.

With what he hoped was a casual gesture, he folded his hands under his chin, his elbows resting on the table. Barely moving his lips, he spoke into the microphone on his wrist.

"I've found our man. He's got company. Looks like Carlson's description of the second man." Sneaking a look out of the corner of his eyes, he whispered, "They're coming over here. Stand by."

Laying his hands on the table, he looked up with an innocently curious look as Jackson and his companion approached the table, the red haired man in the lead.

"Mind if we join you?"

Face cocked his head and shrugged his assent. "How can I help you gentlemen?" He arched one eyebrow coolly as they sat down, then he smiled at the waitress as she delivered his drink.

"Actually," the man with the red hair said quietly, "We should be asking how we can help you."

Face wrinkled his eyebrows as if confused.

"You can cut the act, mister. I've been in the business long enough to know when someone's watching me." The red haired man eyed Face shrewdly.

"And what business might that be?" the conman asked calmly.

Red Hair laughed then became serious again in the blink of an eye. "Let's just cut to the chase here. Are you a cop?"

Face gave a small laugh. "A cop? That's rich. Actually, I was looking for you and your friend here. I have some contacts who mentioned that you might be willing to...ah...do some, shall we say, jobs that require a certain amount of discretion. For a goodly sum of money, of course," he added quickly.

Red Hair narrowed his eyes suspiciously and pursed his lips as he studied Face. "What kind of jobs?" he asked slowly.

Face squirmed uncomfortably, looking around him. "It's kind of private to be discussed in a place with so many ears. Perhaps we might go elsewhere?" He jerked his head toward the door. He shrugged apologetically as Red Hair's eyes narrowed further.

"Little John Harper said you were careful, but I thought you'd at least be willing to listen to my proposition." Face cocked his head, waiting.

"You know Little John?" the mercenary asked slowly. Face nodded.

There was silence before Red Hair gave a short nod and stood abruptly. "I have a friend who owns a place just down the street. We can talk there. For your sake, I hope you are telling the truth, cause my friend here gets real unhappy when he's lied to."

"I can imagine," Face said, nervously eyeing Jackson's bulky frame.

"Wait a minute." Jackson stood up and grabbed Face's lapels with one hand. With the other, he ripped off the fake glasses. "I know you," he snarled.

"Oh dear, look at the time," Face said quickly. "I gotta go." With a quick movement, he twisted free of Jackson's grip and stood up. Jackson went to grab him again, and Face used his entire strength to plant his fist on Jackson's ugly nose.

The room fell completely silent as Jackson's neck snapped back. Then, like an enraged bull, the huge man pushed the table aside and charged, bellowing, at Face.

"Oh boy," Face said, as he quickly side stepped to avoid Jackson's charge. "So much for the inconspicuous approach. BA!"

The door crashed open and BA and Hannibal burst into the room. Hannibal fired a couple rounds into the ceiling and everyone froze, including Jackson and his companion.

"It's about time," Face snapped, grabbing the gun Hannibal tossed him and pointing it at Red Hair who was slowly inching his way toward the back door.

"You," he said curtly, jerking his head toward the front door.

BA leveled his gun at Jackson and growled, "You too, or I'll finish what we started 13 years ago."

Jackson glared at them. "I'll kill you guys for this."

"Save it and move," Hannibal snapped without looking at him.

As Face and BA herded Jackson and Red Hair out of the room, Hannibal nodded cordially at the bar tender and patrons.

"Sorry for the trouble. No need to be alarmed. Just go about your business and we'll take care of these troublemakers." Lowering his gun, he followed his men out into the night.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Colonel Decker looked around the bar, his nose wrinkled in disgust. The damage was relatively minor compared to some of the places the Team had left for him to find - a few overturned tables, some bullet holes in the ceiling - nothing major.

He still felt like stomping around and cursing. He couldn't believe he had just missed the A-Team, again. The bar owner had called the police immediately after they left, and a few cars had been near enough to give chase, but that never worked with the Team.

He turned back to the bar owner who had been excitedly chattering on to him and Captain Crane for the last fifteen minutes.

"Are you sure it was the A-Team?" he interrupted as the man began to tell his story for the sixth time.

"Yes, sir," the bar owner said vehemently. He was a short, fat man whose white hair was mostly balding on top. His watery brown eyes nearly popped from a face as red as the dried ketchup that was smeared on most of the table tops.

"I've seen their pictures before, yes I have," he continued, nodding his head vigorously.

Decker wondered idly if it was going to fall off with the force of those nods. 'Nah,' he thought, 'those rolls of fat will keep that from happening any time soon.'

"It was them all right," he continued, still nodding. "I'd know them anywhere, yes I would. They took away one of my best customers, yes they did. In broad daylight they did."

"The men they took, who were they?" Decker pushed down the rising annoyance he felt at this man. He had a job to do. He didn't believe the A-Team went around kidnapping people for no good reason, especially now. These men most likely had some link to the disappearance of Captain Murdock.

The bar owner stopped nodding and looked wary. Decker narrowed his eyes and sent a withering gaze at the fat man that had caused many a raw recruit to nearly wet his pants. Sure enough, the little man wilted and looked down at the floor, wringing his hands.

"I don't know much about the second one," he said hesitantly, "but Cal Jackson comes here a lot, he does. He's one of my best customers."

At Jackson's name, Decker's head jerked up from where he had been writing notes on a small notepad. It couldn't be the same man. "Cal Jackson. Describe him," he ordered tersely.

The bar owner looked around him nervously as though looking for someone to save him from this awkward situation. "Well," he began, once more ringing his hands, "he's a big feller, no hair, but he has this tattoo on the back of his head."

"A griffin fighting a snake?" Decker asked, already knowing the answer.

"Why yes," the little man sounded surprised. "You know him?"

"You might say that," Decker replied surly. Cal Jackson…a soldier more violent and bloodthirsty than he had ever been. The man had spent less than two weeks in Decker's unit before being sent to the brig for nearly killing one of his teammates. Decker had seen to it that the man was immediately transferred.

What could Jackson have to do with all this? The man was dumber than a pole and had virtually no skills except...Decker's eyes widened in sudden understanding. Explosives. The man was a genius when it came to explosives.

Decker cursed softly, causing the bar owner to look at him with trepidation. He finally had a lead on the ones who had committed this terrible crime, and once again, the Team had beat him to it. He regretted involving them, but he had known this would happen when he did it.

Still, he might be able to salvage something out of the situation. The Team was unpredictable at best, especially when it came to their friends and allies. But, knowing them, Jackson and his companion would probably show up in a day or two at the local police station. He would be ready when that happened.

"Thank you for your time," he said with a curt nod to the bar owner. The little man started in surprise.

"You're going to get them, aren't you? Get them and make them pay for what they did to my bar?" Decker muttered a noncommittal reply and jerked his head at Crane. Together the two turned and left the bar, ignoring the owner's calls after them.

It was about time he made some progress on this case.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
"I told you that was a rotten plan, Hannibal. I could have been smashed into jelly by gorilla Jackson here or those cops could have caught us and we could have shared a nice long prison sentence with these guys." Face gestured irritably at the two men bound securely to chairs in his latest scammed apartment.

Hannibal let his lieutenant rant, puffing calmly on his cigar as he studied their prisoners.

"Relax, Face. None of that happened and we got what we were after, so technically, the plan was a success. Now let's see about getting some answers." Face snorted, but turned his attention to their prisoners.

"We ain't telling you nothing," Jackson snarled, straining at his bonds.

"Tsk, tsk. Still no manners, I see," Hannibal said calmly.

"Or respect for a superior officer, as usual," Face chimed in. "I guess some things don't change."

"Yeah, like blowing things up and murdering innocent people," BA growled. Jackson glared at them, but stayed silent.

"But you know what," Hannibal continued. "I get the feeling that you are not in charge here. Too neat and organized. You never bothered to plan half the stuff you did. Perhaps hired muscle?" He turned to face Red Hair, who 'til now had barely moved and had not spoken a word. "I'm Colonel Smith of the A-Team. Who are you?"

Red Hair merely cocked his head and looked arrogantly back at the colonel. BA stepped forward. Grabbing the front of the man's shirt, he stuck his face inches away from Red Hair's.

"The man asked you a question," he growled menacingly. "Now answer it."

"I'd suggest you not antagonize my friend here," Hannibal said, lighting a cigar with his lighter. After a few puffs, he removed it and continued. "You see, we seem to have lost a very dear friend of ours, and we heard that you and Jackson here are responsible. Now that makes him very angry," he finished, gesturing at BA who had released the prisoner and was bunching his muscles and cracking his knuckles threateningly. "Now, why don't you cooperate and tell us who you are."

Red Hair glanced disdainfully at BA, before turning to Hannibal. He looked the colonel up and down before twitching his lips upward into a mocking smile. "Call me the Abominable Dr. Phebes," he said tauntingly.

Hannibal returned the grin with a grim smile of his own, before turning to BA. "It seems Dr. Phebes here doesn't want to cooperate." A feral light appeared in BA's eyes as he nodded in understanding. He had been longing to make someone pay for Murdock's disappearance, and now was his chance.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

"Okay, okay," Red Hair gasped as BA pulled his head from under the water. "I'll talk. Just get me out of here."

Hannibal studied his captive floundering in the hot tub filled with scalding hot water, held up only by BA's massive fist. Finally he nodded.

"Pull him out, BA." As BA complied, he warned, "But if you don't cooperate, we'll up the water temperature 10 degrees." Soggy red curls shook as the prisoner nodded, shivering violently in the cooler temperature of the room.

"First your name," Hannibal barked, unsympathetic to his captive's plight.

"Riter, Thomas Riter," the man replied, his teeth chattering.

"Okay, Mr. Riter. We'd like to know where our friend is."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Riter replied sullenly.

Face stepped forward and glanced questioningly at Hannibal. The colonel nodded and Face said, "Let me clarify a bit. You and our old friend Jackson in the other room planted several bombs in the VA hospital that subsequently exploded, injuring a number of patients and medical staff. Before the explosion, an orderly saw you leaving the building with a certain Captain Murdock, who disappeared that same day. Ring any bells?"

Riter glared at Face, but remained stubbornly silent.

"Okay," Hannibal said, twisting the temperature gauge on the hot tub to its maximum temperature. "BA." The sergeant grinned and grabbed Riter again.

"All right. Okay. Stop!" Riter pleaded as BA held him next to the tub."

"Are you going to answer our questions?" Hannibal asked sternly. Riter nodded vigorously.

"Clemente. Some guy named Signor Clemente was the one who hired us to bomb the VA psychiatric hospital and kidnap Murdock."

"Where is Captain Murdock now?" Hannibal asked, leaning forward in interest. Now they were getting somewhere.

"I don't know. Our orders were to drug him, then drive him to a prearranged spot outside the city where a couple of Clemente's men met us. They took Murdock and paid us."

"Why Murdock?" Face put in. "What would this Clemente guy, whoever he is, want with Murdock?"

Riter shook his head. "I don't know. We never saw Clemente and part of the deal was that we not ask any questions. I was lucky I even got a name, and that was only because one of the men accidentally mentioned his name while we were there. I don't know anything else about him. Our contact was a guy named Plankton. I don't know a first name. This guy was determined to keep us in the dark."

"Wise," Face noted. "That way the hired hands can't take you down if they get caught."

Riter glared at him. "I don't talk to no cops," he said indignantly, "and I don't betray the people I work for." He stopped and a strange expression crossed his face.

Hannibal laughed. "Well, you did this time. Did you get all that?" he asked, looking at his lieutenant. Face grinned as he held up a tape recorder and Riter paled even further.

Hannibal's grin got even bigger "Good. C'mon, I think we've gotten all we're going to get out of these guys. Let's tie them up and leave them at the warehouse for the time being."

"Hannibal," BA protested, looking toward the room where Jackson was tied to a chair. The longing in the big man's face was obvious.

"Sorry, BA. We're in too much of a rush. Maybe later." The colonel placed a sympathetic hand on his sergeant's shoulder.

"So, we're not going to turn them over to the police?" Face asked, surprised.

Hannibal shook his head. "Not yet. We now have a lead they don't have. It may take us a while to find the right Clemente. I don't know about you, but I want to get to him and rescue Murdock before the police or the military have a chance to step in and muddy the waters. Let's go."

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Pain. It was all he knew and all he remembered.

*** The price of defiance ***

Fire, racing through his veins.

*** The price of disobedience ***

Molten metal. His skin was melting off.

*** How long will you fight? It is pointless to fight ***

He threw back his head and screamed. Fire whipped around him. His skin was melting and falling off in strips of burnt leather.

Noooo!

Coolness. Relief from the pain. He floated in a sea of non-feeling. Slowly the pain faded, replaced by a rising euphoria. An incredible sense of peace and contentment filled him.

*** See the release you can have if you give in? ***

Yes. Yes, I see

*** Simply obey. Do you want to obey? ***

Yes

*** Do not fight. Do you want to fight? ***

No. Yesss!

He howled as pain hit him once again, a hundred needles piercing his brain. He struggled to breathe. Bright lights danced around him. Ribbons of fire pierced his skin, leaving burning agony where they touched.

*** Do you want to fight? ***

He struggled to breathe, struggled to fight. Pain attacked him in waves. Exhaustion tore at him. Why should he fight? There was no reason. A small voice screamed from within him that there was a reason, but he shoved it away. There was no reason. He longed to pass out, to give in, to know no more, to die...

*** Do you want to fight? ***

He felt himself separate, split down the middle.

*** Do you want to fight? ***

"Nooooo!"

The word was ripped from his lips, and he collapsed back as the pain suddenly disappeared. Trembling, he waited for it to start again. Every muscle in his body quivered with exhaustion and the residues of his ordeal. He could not remember when he had felt no pain. He only knew it was worse when he fought. Why should he fight? There was no reason.

"He is ready."

"How do you know?"

The voices came from a great distance. They seemed somewhat familiar and he searched his memory, but there was only the memory of pain, the price of defiance.

"His resistance has been getting weaker every hour and his moments of defiance more brief. We've been at this for two days. Any more and it will kill him."

Two days. Were they talking about him? No, they couldn't be. He could remember nothing but the pain. It had been there since he was born. It would be there 'til he died. The price of disobedience.

"What about when he regains his health? Will the programming remain?"

"I will keep him here for a few days until the wounds begin to heal. That should be enough time to find out how permanent the conditioning is. We will also watch him closely for a few days after that. If it is not enough, we'll start again."

Nooo! His mind screamed at the thought. He couldn't do this again. No more. There was no reason to fight any longer. He longed to beg, but his muscles did not remember how to move.

"I assure you, when I am finished, he will not be able to think of defiance or escape without terror and memory of the pain."

Darkness came, bringing with it welcome forgetfulness and release from the pain.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Warnings: None

See chapter 1 for disclaimers and further information.

A/N – Merry Christmas, everyone! Hope you had a wonderful day.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
Alexander Clemente watched as the plane came in for a smooth landing and taxied to a stop in front of the hangar. Edward moved away from him and went to greet the pilot who was climbing somewhat stiffly out of the cockpit.

"It's still reacting sluggishly when I shift to the right, Ed. I think..." he stopped as Edward gave a jerk of his head. When he turned and saw Clemente approaching, his entire body stiffened. Clemente smiled as the pilot snapped to attention, his eyes staring blankly ahead.

"Good morning, Captain Murdock."

"Good morning, sir," Murdock replied, his eyes never wavering and his face entirely blank.

"Ed tells me that you have been testing all of my planes and bringing them back to tip top flying condition. I'm pleased with the progress you have made in the last few days."

"Thank you, sir."

Clemente frowned slightly. There was something about the captain's manner that bothered him. He had not been down to see him since the pilot had been returned to his quarters in the hangar three days ago. However, Plankton had provided him with regular progress reports. He had reported that the Captain was recovering nicely from his injuries. He was also showing no signs of defiance and was cooperating completely. Why then was he suddenly uneasy?

"Look at me, Captain." He clenched his jaw as the pilot's eyes met his. They were completely blank and devoid of life. There was no sign of the previous rebellious nature, but neither was there the vitality that had been there before. Instead, there seemed to be a dark void filled with...an intensity. There was no other way to describe it. He shivered.

"At ease," he said, bothered by what he had seen and actually relieved when those eyes left his and the captain relaxed slightly. "Continue the good work, gentlemen," he said quickly, suddenly eager to end the interview. "I will be checking in on you again in a few days." He turned on his heels and walked back toward his security chief, standing a few feet away.

He sneaked a look over his shoulder and saw Murdock was still watching him. He shivered again. Motioning Plankton to walk with him, he began to head back to the house.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Plankton asked, concerned by his master's silence. "Were you not pleased by Captain Murdock's performance?"

"How certain are you that the captain has been tamed and will not defy us any longer?"

Plankton looked surprised by the sudden question, but did not hesitate to answer. "Very sure, sir. I have been watching him closely these past few days, even when he did not know it. I have also tested him in several ways. He will not defy us anymore than Edward does." He sounded completely confident and some of Clemente's uneasiness began to fade.

"Yes, I was particularly pleased with Forbes' work on Edward," he said thoughtfully, remembering the violent and hateful mechanic he had had brought in from the slums in New York City.

"Is something wrong, sir? Did Murdock do or say something that displeased you?" Plankton sounded worried.

"No," Clemente waved a hand dismissively. "I have complete faith in your opinion and in Mr. Forbes' work. I'm sure it was simply my paranoia." He laughed, and the two continued in silence to inspect the rest of Clemente's collections.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Murdock watched as Clemente left. He thought about the look that had passed briefly across the old man's face when he had looked at him. Suddenly, he became aware of Edward tugging on his sleeve.

"We'll finish working on the Nieuport tomorrow," he said curtly. "There's not enough light to take another one up." Leaving Ed to put the plane away and close up, he strode back into the hangar and headed for his room.

He stripped to the waist and filling the sink with warm water, he began to wash himself carefully around the bandages that still covered areas of his back and chest. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he considered the fresh pink scars where some of the bandages had been removed the night before. He was still stiff and sore, and the fact that he had been driving himself relentlessly flying and testing every plane's capabilities did not help.

He frowned slightly as he remembered Clemente's reaction to him once more. Could it be, after everything that had happened, Clemente was still afraid of him? Memories of intense pain clouded his mind, and he shied away from those thoughts and concentrated instead on washing and dressing himself. It was impossible anyway. Clemente had won. There was no reason for him to be afraid.

His movements were still hampered by the hand that had been deeply mauled by the dog...was it only six days ago? Again the pain and the memories came and he forced himself to think of the planes he would test the next day.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tap at his door. He opened it for the silent young man in a white coat who entered the room bearing a tray of food. Placing the tray on the dresser, he indicated that Murdock should remove his shirt. Murdock complied.

It was the same every night since he had been returned to his rooms in the hangar. The man came, checked the bandages, added new ointment and left, never uttering a word. Clemente had obviously ordered that he receive the best medical care available after his 're-training'.

Murdock was actually relieved when the doctor left, leaving him to his food.

Sitting gingerly on his bed, he poked at the stuff on his tray. He had to admit that the pork chops and mashed potatoes looked better than the fare the VA usually served. The meat had been cut up into bite sized chunks. They were probably afraid to leave him alone with any sharp objects, he mused thoughtfully. Even his razors had been replaced with an electric one.

Stirring the tapioca pudding, he tried not to think about what he would do with a knife if he had one. Taking a bite, he closed his eyes. If he used his imagination, it almost tasted like the caviar Face had made him try once.

His eyes snapped open. No. He couldn't go there. He wouldn't. That part of his life had passed. Pushing the tray away, he brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. His friends thought he was dead. Everyone thought he was dead. There was no reason to dredge up the past. No reason to fight.

It took an effort of will to uncurl his legs and force himself to eat every bite on the tray. They would question him if he did not, and he didn't want to face that. When he was finished, he placed his tray on the floor and curled up on the bed. Humming softly to himself, he quickly fell asleep completely unaware of the tune he was singing.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Clemente turned away from the monitor as the captain began to hum "You are my sunshine."

"Is he like this every night?" He asked Plankton, who had also been watching the scene from behind him. The chief of security shrugged.

"Pretty much. If you will remember, sir, the others reacted in much the same way. In a few days, he should be back to normal, only much more passive and compliant." He smiled at his boss reassuringly and Clemente nodded.

"Good. I think I will return to the airstrip tomorrow to check up on his progress. Right now, I am going to follow the good captain's example and go to bed. It has been a long day." Bidding Plankton good night, he left the room to find his own chambers.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
_Murdock looked around at the dark room he was in and shivered in the cold, damp air. The walls looked like rough stone, and rivulets of water ran down them in places. He briefly wondered how he could see since there was no source of light, but the thought skittered across his mind like water on a hot skillet, evaporating into nothing._

_As he looked around the room, he spotted an arch in the rough stone wall, leading out._

_Out where?_

_He didn't know, but it didn't really matter. Walking over to the arch, he found a pile of bricks and a metal pail filled with thick, wet cement. Somehow, he knew what to do and picked up the first brick. He worked on the brick wall for some time._

_How long?_

_It didn't matter. Time had no meaning in this place. He only knew that he needed to finish the wall before..._

_What?_

_It didn't matter._

_"What are you doing, Murdock?"_

_The voice made him aware of someone near him, and he looked over the waist high wall of bricks he had built. Face looked back at him curiously, his golden brown hair somehow sparkling in the non-existent light source._

_"I'm building a wall."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because I'm dead." The answer didn't make sense, even to him, but somehow he sensed that it was the right one. The wall was now about chest high. He did not realize that he had been working so quickly. He didn't even feel tired._

_"No, Murdock. You aren't dead." There was a note of desperation in Face's voice that Murdock had never heard before. The pilot stopped working and peered curiously across the wall at his friend. The conman looked upset, and Face took a step closer, holding his hands out pleadingly._

_"You've got to fight, Murdock. We're coming. You just have to keep fighting until we get there."_

_Murdock looked at his friend and teammate for a long time before shaking his head and picking up the next brick._

_"It's too late, Faceman," he said sadly. "There isn't any reason to fight anymore. If everyone thinks I'm dead, that means I'm dead. I have to do what I'm told. I have to build this wall, or..." he trailed off in confusion._

_Or what?_

_He didn't know, but he was sure it was bad, whatever it was. Pushing the confusing thoughts away, he laid the brick in the layer of wet cement and picked up another. "We just have to accept it. There isn't any other way."_

_"No!" Face sounded angry and he stepped closer still. "This is all wrong. You aren't Murdock. The Murdock I know wouldn't give up like this. The Murdock I know would fight until the last breath. Remember 'Nam, Murdock?" The conman took another step and Murdock stopped laying bricks, eyeing his friend in trepidation. Face sounded angry. He had never been angry with him before, not really._

_"Back in 'Nam it was a whole lot worse than it is right now, remember? Do you remember the nights in the camps when we weren't sure if starvation or the beatings were going to kill us first? Do you remember watching the grunts dying all around us and wishing, no praying, that we would be next?"_

_Murdock looked away from his friend's angry face, uncertainty beginning to coil around his thoughts. Memories of a dark place began to creep into his mind. He remembered the dampness, a lot like this place. It was impossible to stay dry, but that had been the least of their worries. He remembered begging his friends to let him go, to let him die._

_"Do you remember what Hannibal kept saying to us? 'If we die, if we give in, the enemy wins, is that what you want? I thought I picked stronger men for my team. Now fight!'" Murdock looked back into Face's hazel eyes, sometimes blue, sometimes brown, always changing. The eyes were green-brown now, the color they took on when the conman was angry or upset._

_"It's too late, Face," he said, a distressed tone entering his voice. "I tried to fight, but you guys weren't there. I can't do it alone. I can't fight alone. It's better for everyone if I just finish this wall." Determination reentered his voice and he stepped back up to the pile of bricks and picked up another one._

_"So, you're just going to give up?" The scorn and contempt in Face's voice cut at Murdock like a knife, and he closed his eyes in pain. Something forced him to continue laying the next layer, though. The wall was now eye level, barely allowing him to see Face on the other side._

_"I can't fight alone. I'm sorry," he whispered._

_"Then you don't have to fight alone," Face answered. "I won't let you do this." As Murdock raised the next brick to set it in place, he saw the conman step forward and place both hands against the wall, pushing with all his might. The pilot gave a startled cry as the wall began to fall inward, the wet cement between the bricks not yet dry. Throwing up his hands, he stumbled backward as the entire wall collapsed on top of him._

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Face sat up in bed with a hoarse cry, his eyes wide and staring, his breathing ragged. He sensed movement in the room with him and realized that Hannibal had come over to the bed from where he had been standing at the window.

Recognition of his surroundings slowly began to sink in, and he let out a shuddery breath. He heard the water run in the sink of the hotel bathroom and moments later, a glass was pressed into his shaking hands. The bed sank beside him as Hannibal sat down.

"Nightmare?" the colonel asked softly, though the question wasn't necessary. Face nodded wordlessly and looked around the small dingy hotel room. BA's large form snored peacefully in the bed across from him.

A book rested on the table near the window next to a half smoked cigar in the ash tray. Obviously, someone else had found difficulty sleeping, despite the many long hours they had been traveling for the past two days.

Face glanced at the clock on the bedside table and grimaced. It was 1:15 in the morning. Sighing, he settled back and took a drink of the water.

He could feel Hannibal's gaze on him. "Do you want to talk about it?" the colonel asked gently.

Face's first instinct was to brush it off, to claim he was fine. Instead, he looked back at his commander, the raw fear he felt shining in his eyes.

"We need to get to Murdock soon, Hannibal." As he spoke the dream came back, and he felt again the sense of anger and loss as his friend pushed him away again and again. "I don't know how to explain it," he whispered softly, "but I have the feeling we're losing him. If we don't get there soon..." He swallowed and clenched his teeth in an effort to restrain the fear he felt.

Hannibal looked at him for a moment before nodding silently. "I feel it, too. We'll get there tomorrow, Face, even if we have to drive without stopping. We'll get there tomorrow."

Face nodded and took another sip of water. Looking back up at his commander, he gave a weak grin. "I don't think I can sleep again for a while. Care for a game of Gin?"

******AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Murdock looked at himself in the mirror and focused on the blank neutral expression until it was firmly planted on his face and eyes. His hand only trembled a little as he opened the door. Striding into the hangar, he met Ed coming toward him with a worried expression on his face.

"Are you all right, Murdock?"

Murdock frowned, his heart quickening for a moment. "Of course I'm all right. Why?"

"Well, you were so late coming out this morning that I..."

"I'm fine," Murdock interrupted, hurrying past Ed. "I just slept in this morning, that's all." Mentally he berated himself for taking so long to compose himself. He could not afford any abnormal behavior. The price of suspicion was too high, even with Ed.

Striding over to the War Hawk, the small World War II fighter plane that had been prepared for him, he climbed into the cockpit.

"I worked on the rudder control last night," Ed called up. "It should work fine for you this morning."

Murdock nodded and gave him a thumbs up as he started the engines and taxied out onto the runway.

Easing the throttle forward, he brought the plane up to speed until it lifted smoothly into the air. Pulling back on the yoke, he increased his altitude before beginning a series of test rolls.

He kept a careful eye on the special indicator that had been installed to alert him when he was close to the borders of Clemente's land. Suddenly, he froze at the controls as a dangerous thought entered his mind. Shaking his head, he pushed it away and spoke into his headset.

"She's responding nicely, Ed. I'm going to test her with a few other maneuvers, then bring her down. Get the Spitfire ready. I want to take her up next."

"Roger," came the reply. He and Edward had been provided with radios locked on a particular frequency and coded so that no one outside could understand the transmissions. The radios could only be used to transmit between the planes and the hangar. There was no way to send an outside transmission. Clemente had thought of everything, it seemed.

Murdock's eyes strayed once more to the border towers about half a mile away. Unbidden, the thought reentered his mind. Maybe Clemente hadn't thought of everything.

Keeping his distance, he practiced a few maneuvers while keeping an eye on the ground near the border fence. After a few moments, he found what he was looking for. Banking left, he turned and headed back for the runway.

After the plane came to a stop, he continued to grip the controls tightly. He could feel the trembling that had plagued him this morning and last night returning. There was no way it could work.

*** The Murdock I know wouldn't give up like this. Fight! ***

'No, Face. You don't understand. It's crazy.'

*** You've done crazy things before. The important thing is that you don't give up. ***

'I can't. I can't fight alone. The price of failure is too high.'

*** Then don't fail. ***

"I'm afraid," he admitted in a whisper to the controls in front of him.

"Murdock? Murdock!"

Murdock snapped out of his self-imposed trance as he heard the tapping on the cockpit window. With a sigh, he fixed his features into blank neutrality once more and pressed the button that caused the cockpit cover to lift slowly into the air. Ed was perched atop a ladder, staring at him.

"When you didn't come down..." Ed started apologetically.

"It's okay. I was just thinking," Murdock replied, pushing himself up and out of the cockpit. Ed moved down the ladder, and the pilot followed, wincing at the pain he still felt from his injuries.

He could feel Ed's eyes on him as he headed directly for the next plane, but he ignored him and climbed into the cockpit. The trembling returned as he took off, but inside a calm sort of excitement raged.

He found himself banking toward the perimeter fence once more as the plan began to take shape in his mind. It wouldn't hurt to look around. It didn't mean that he was even going to consider trying it. No, it was just wise for any pilot to know the territory he was flying over. You never knew when you might crash.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Three hours later, Murdock sat down with Ed for lunch at a work bench set up outside the hangar. His mind was still whirling with crazy, no suicidal, thoughts as he tried desperately to maintain small talk with Ed.

He would have to be a crazy fool to even consider what he was considering. He smiled as he thought of what BA's reaction to that would be. He was a crazy fool and he found that he relished the feeling of insanity stirring once more in his blood.

"Murdock?"

The pilot jumped as he realized Ed was speaking to him. "I'm sorry, what where you saying?"

"I was asking how the Spitfire was working now that I fixed up those hydraulics." Ed was looking at him intently, head slightly tilted, a wary expression on his face.

Murdock forced his inner turmoil into a tight knot in the pit of his stomach. It would not do to have anyone notice his agitation now. They might...He swallowed and focused on answering Ed's question.

"It's moving pretty smoothly now, except for a slight whine in the motor. You might want to check..." he bit back a curse as he tried to pick up his fork only to have it slip through his trembling fingers and fall to the ground with a clatter.

"You're going to try again, aren't you?" Ed's quiet voice cut through Murdock's jumbled thoughts like a knife. The pilot jumped and looked around quickly. A couple of Plankton's men leaned up against the hangar, smoking and laughing, occasionally glancing at the two eating lunch several feet away.

"I don't know what you mean." Murdock looked nervously at Ed. The mechanic was picking at his food. Taking a bite of his sandwich he looked back at Murdock. His eyes held only sadness and a strange sort of longing. His next statement took Murdock by surprise.

"I wish I had the guts to try it again." He bowed his head once more. "You must have some powerful reason to risk the penalty for running away twice. Especially since Clemente doesn't give third chances."

Murdock stared at a man that, although he had not known him for very long, had quickly become a good friend. Ed raised his eyes and smiled slightly before saying in a normal voice, "I'll have the Nieuport ready for you to take up in half an hour." He got up, and dusting the crumbs off his uniform, he walked off into the hangar.

Murdock watched the mechanic go with a thoughtful look on his face. He was surprised to realize that all of his earlier nervousness and agitation had disappeared, leaving only an iron hard resolve.

TBC

A/N: Hmm...what is Murdock up to? Stay tuned.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Warnings: None

See chapter 1 for disclaimers and further information.

A/N: I know I promised this to some of you last night, but I got sidetracked. Better late than never, right?

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
Murdock squinted as he looked at the sun. There was probably an hour or two before sunset, maybe three before complete darkness. He smiled slightly, and his eyes narrowed in determination. He would do this or die trying. Clemente was not going to get him again.

He gave a short laugh. Considering what he was planning, he very well might die trying, Clemente or no Clemente. Still, his mind was made up, and dying was certainly better than what he faced here if he gave up. Last time, he had played on the old man's turf and by his rules. This time, they would do things his way.

Clemente, Forbes, Plankton, all of them had made one vital mistake. They had underestimated the strength of his will and sense of self-preservation. He had faced the worst Clemente had to offer and had come through fighting. There was no way he was going to fail this time.

Turning on his heel, he strode as swiftly as his still healing body would allow to where Ed waited by the last plane of the day, a Cessna. Simple compared to some of the other elaborate planes in the hangar, but it was exactly what he needed.

"There's enough daylight for one more flight then we'll call it quits," he said to the red-haired mechanic standing next to him. Ed nodded and closed the door to the small plane after Murdock had climbed in.

Turning on the engines, the captain adjusted the throttle and taxied down the runway for take-off. Once in the air, he circled the hangar and dipped a wing at Ed, far below. It was then that he saw a figure all in white descending the hill toward the hangar with several bodyguards in tow. His heart gave a lurch as memories of pain and unending agony flashed through his mind.

Did Clemente know? Was that why he was coming down? Taking deep, calming breaths, Murdock forced himself to start thinking. Clemente's presence could be a good thing. If he was at the hangar, then he wasn't with the dogs, and maybe, just maybe...Besides, this way, there was no way Clemente could think Ed was in any way involved.

Banking right, Murdock headed for the perimeter fence where he had been that morning. He practiced a few dives and barrel rolls to make things look normal. After a minute or two, he saw the perimeter remote control towers that provided direct access to the explosives on each plane.

Gripping the yoke with both hands, he took a deep breath and began to guide the plane through a series of dips and jerks. He grinned as he thought of what BA would say about what he was going to do next. The big sergeant would probably strangle him.

Speaking into his headset, he strove to make his voice tense and worried. "Uh, Ed. She's acting up here."

"Acting up?" Ed's voice came back. "I did a full check on her this morning. What's going on?"

"I'm...not sure," Murdock replied, jerking the plane sideways and going into a brief dive. "She's not responding to the controls very well. I think...Oh no." He sent the plane into another steep dive until it was very near the treetops below. The perimeter fence and the spot Murdock had located that morning were just ahead.

Suddenly, Murdock heard Clemente's voice over the radio. "Bring it back, Captain Murdock. I repeat, bring the plane in." There was a note of urgency in the old man's voice and Murdock grinned. He really needed to remember to thank Face for all the lessons the conman had taught him. That was, if he survived this.

"I'm not...sure I...can," he said breathlessly, jerking the plane from side to side. "It doesn't want to turn." There was a thump as a wing came too close to a branch, knocking it off in a spray of leaves. "Oops," he muttered to himself, furrowing his brow in concentration. He had to do this just right, or the crash would kill him. There were too many trees around to lose concentration now.

Into the radio, he said in a panicked voice, "She won't turn. She's not responding. I think I'm going to..." he cut off as he thrust the yoke of the plane forward as far as he could. The nose of the aircraft dipped sharply down below the tree line.

Murdock let go of the controls and curled forward as far as he could. There was a series of jarring jolts and bumps then an ear rending screech of tortured metal as the trees tore the wings off the plane. Murdock felt the shower of glass against his back, almost before he heard the front windshield shatter. There was a tremendous lurch, and Murdock slid forward into the control panel where he cracked his head sharply. Stars exploded in front of his eyes, and darkness fell.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
As he came slowly back to his senses, Murdock realized that everything had come to a halt. He groaned as he struggled into a sitting position. His ears were ringing, bright lights were dancing around his head, and he didn't really want to know the condition of the rest of his body, especially his not quite healed scars.

He felt a wetness trickling down his face, and he figured he must have hit his head harder than he thought. There was also dampness on his side and back. He couldn't feel it now, but he figured he must have reopened some of his wounds and would regret it later.

As he sat up, he nearly bumped his head against a branch that had pierced the front windshield and slammed into the seat where his head would have been if he had been sitting up. However, he had no time to marvel over his good luck.

Smoke. Moving as quickly as he could, he worked his way out of the cockpit and toward the passenger section of the small plane. He hadn't made it very far before he saw the smoke billowing out of the rear.

Trying not to breath in the thick black fumes, he reached the door and tried to push it open. Unfortunately the metal frame was bent inward as though something large were pressing in on it from the outside. Probably a tree. Whatever it was, he wasn't getting out that way.

Turning back to the cockpit, the brief thought entered his mind that he might have sealed his own fate. It was only a matter of time before the fire found the explosives on board. Shaking his head, he ripped off the hated gray uniform shirt grimacing at the patches of blood on the material. He should be thankful his gamble had worked and that the explosives had not gone off on impact.

Wrapping the cloth around his hands, he pushed and hit at the nearly shattered glass around the tree branch until he had created a hole large enough to crawl through. He emerged, gasping and choking, into the forest beyond the plane.

Sliding off the nose, he hit the ground feet first and turned to look back at the plane. Black smoke billowed out, dangerously near the fuselage.

Limping slightly from the impact with the ground, he moved quickly away to a safe distance before looking back again. Just then, the flames found either the fuel tanks or the explosives or both. Murdock dropped to the ground as the Cessna exploded in a ball of fire.

After a moment, he dared to look back up. The plane was engulfed in flames and thick black smoke trailed up. He grinned broadly. With luck, they would think he had been caught in the plane. They'd have to wait until the fire was put out before they could know for sure. That gave him some time, and he was determined to make the best of it.

Taking a moment to check himself over, he discovered that although the head wound wasn't serious, he had indeed reopened one of the deeper lacerations on his side and from the feel of it, on his back as well. The bandages were already soaked through with blood. Ripping a broad strip of material from around the hem of his shirt, he did his best to tightly bind the wound in his side. It would have to do. He would go as far as he could and hope he found help before he bled to death.

Slipping on what remained of the shirt, he glanced up at the sky to get his directions and set off towards the perimeter fence. He only prayed that the hill he had seen from the air was the same he had encountered the night of his failed escape attempt.

He found the fence after about half a mile. He winced at how close he had come to sending the plane sliding through the perimeter fence. That would have set off the explosives much sooner.

He let out a shaky breath. BA was right. He was a crazy fool. But at least luck was still with him. He shrugged and grinned into the fading light. The grin turned into a chuckle, then full blown laughter from the sheer euphoria of being alive. He was alive, and his path to freedom close. He was going to make it. He knew it.

His head jerked around at the distant sound of chopper blades. He hadn't been aware that Clemente had a helicopter or another pilot, but it made sense. He considered sticking around and attempting to steal the chopper, but he did not know where they would land or whether Clemente would leave someone to guard it. In his condition, he probably wouldn't have much luck taking on anyone. He was better off sticking to his original plan and hoping the heavy foliage and the coming darkness would protect him from any search by air.

Quickly he began to hurry along the fence in the direction of the hill he had seen from the air. The forest was dense, and he took comfort from the fact that it would take a while for the chopper to find a clearing big enough to land, and more time for its occupants to make it to the plane. By that time, he'd better be long gone.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Clemente stood a short distance away from the wreckage of the Cessna, his stiff form and impassive face masking the fury that was building up inside with a force to match the explosion that had destroyed the small plane. He watched his men as they finished battling the flames. For a while, the fire had been in danger of spreading to the forest around it, but fortunately, they had arrived in time to prevent more than a hundred yard radius from burning.

The old man deliberately ignored Plankton as his chief of security approached from the side and waited to be recognized. Clemente kept his hard eyes on the blackened ruins of what had once been a part of his collection.

"Did you find anything?" The curt words must have caught Plankton by surprise because the man jumped and eyed his master nervously. Clemente still refused to look at him, doing nothing to assuage his nervousness.

"Yes, sir," Plankton replied haltingly, trying to regain his composure. "We're fairly sure the pilot didn't die in the explosion."

"How?" Clemente asked bluntly, continuing to watch the activity around the wreck.

"Well, sir," Plankton hesitated as if unsure whether to continue. "I found a trail off to the south of the wreckage leading..." he swallowed uncertainly.

"Yes?"

"...leading toward the fence, sir," Plankton finished in almost a whisper. Clemente turned slowly to face his security chief, his eyes blazing out of a face utterly devoid of expression.

"Indeed," he drew the word out slowly, the ice in his tone almost freezing the forest around him into stillness. "And how can you be sure that those are not tracks from the last time we caught him near here?"

"With all due respect, sir," Plankton replied slowly, his eyes on the ground, "Murdock didn't leave much of a trail last time. There is also the fact that he emerged from the forest quite a ways west of here."

"Get to the point," Clemente snapped impatiently and Plankton shifted uneasily.

"Well, sir, this trail is much newer. Less than an hour I would say. We also found blood on some leaves a short distance from the wreckage, and there is some sign of a person resting there for a while."

So, he was injured in the crash. Clemente felt a hot flash of triumph. At least the pilot had not walked away unscathed, and when he caught up with him...his blue eyes narrowed to almost slits. No one defied him twice. He suddenly realized Plankton had asked him something. He jerked his head up to glare once more at the security chief.

"What?"

Plankton's face and eyes showed absolute terror at the mood his master was in. 'And well he should be frightened,' Clemente thought darkly. 'He guaranteed that Murdock would defy me no more. He'll be lucky if I don't give him to Forbes. Then again, if Forbes had done his job...' He pulled his mind back to the matter at hand as Plankton nervously repeated his question.

"Do you want us to pursue him, sir?"

"Of course I want you to pursue him," Clemente replied acidly. The man was such a moron. "He can't get past the fence. I want you to find him before he finds another way out." Inside, he wondered idly why the captain had chosen to crash the plane here, so near where they had caught him the first time. Unless...a thought made its way slowly into his mind, and he looked beyond Plankton toward the fence in the invisible distance. Murdock couldn't have found a way out, could he?

Turning back to Plankton he asked, "Can you follow the trail without the dogs?" There was a sense of urgency in his voice and surprise entered the security chief's eyes before he managed to control his features once more.

"Well, it is starting to get dark, but he made no effort to conceal his tracks and we have flashlights, so I should be able to follow it pretty easily."

"Good," Clemente said briskly. "Order someone to go back for the dogs, then take me along the trail. If my hunch is right, we won't have to go too far." Turning back to the wreckage, he waited while Plankton obeyed his orders.

Minutes later, two of his men ran off in the direction of the clearing where they had left his personal chopper, and Plankton returned quickly to his master's side. Taking one final look at the burnt shell, Clemente turned and followed as his chief of security led him quickly down the trail in the direction of the fence.

Twenty minutes later, they stood before the fence, their flashlights trained on the hole that conveniently led beneath the electrified wires. Originally caused by the presence of a boulder too large to move and too inconvenient to go around, the hole had obviously been enlarged to allow a man to crawl underneath the fence.

Clemente eyed the hole dismally, dismayed that he hadn't discovered it the first time they had caught the captain in this area.

Turning to Plankton, he ordered, "Call the compound. Tell them to bring the dogs around to these coordinates south of the fence. We can catch him on the other side. There are miles of wilderness between here and civilization, and he won't be able to go far wounded as he is."

"With luck, we can catch him before he hits downtown Unity and alerts the authorities." Plankton's voice sounded hopeful, but he flinched as his master turned to face him once more.

"You'd better hope and pray we find him before that." Plankton gave a jerky nod, and moved away a short distance, speaking softly into his radio. Clemente returned to staring past the fence into the dark forest beyond.

He wasn't too worried about what the captain could reveal if he actually found civilization. Murdock was certifiably crazy, and Clemente had no doubt that his own power and influence, not to mention vast resources, could protect him against any investigation. Nevertheless, he wanted to avoid that eventuality if at all possible.

"You should know by now, Captain, that I always get what I want."

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Warnings: None

See chapter 1 for disclaimers and further information.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
"I sure hope this isn't another dead end," Face said, breaking the silence in the van. BA sighed. They had been over this multiple times already during the three days they had been on the road. They had been trying to locate the correct Clemente for a week now, but the man was as elusive as a ghost.

Although they had managed to dig up several leads, they had all dead ended with businesses, front organizations or elusive contacts that never showed up.

Two days ago, Face had managed to locate an address in Saskatchewan, Canada that might or might not be the home base of their elusive quarry. The Team had debated long and hard about whether to go all the way to central Canada, risking discovery by the Border Patrol on the small possibility that this lead panned out.

Murdock had been gone almost two weeks now, and they had no idea whether their friend was still alive, and if he was, whether they could afford wasting time following this lead.

Finally, the fact that there were no other leads to follow had settled the question for them. They were not willing to give up on Murdock just yet.

So, they had decided to drive to Canada. Face had wanted to fly, but BA had put his foot down, and Hannibal, for once, agreed. Despite the sense of racing against time, there were other practical needs to consider. If they did find Murdock, they would probably need the guns and other supplies in the back of the van. Smuggling those things past the border would be much easier than getting them on a commercial flight. Even though he was worried about Murdock, BA was relieved that the pilot's absence meant they didn't have to fly.

Beside him, Hannibal sighed. "I hope it's not, too, Face, but we have no other options at this point. If we don't find anything here..." He didn't need to finish his sentence. They all knew the consequences of failure.

There was silence for several miles before Hannibal asked, "Where are we, BA?"

"We're about fifteen miles north of Unity. If that address Face got is any good, the entrance to the animal preserve should be somewhere around here."

Hannibal looked out at the pitch blackness of the forest around them. They had left the main highway several miles back, and were now heading through thick woods on a two lane back road.

"Well, we won't find anything tonight," Hannibal said decisively. "We'll get a room in Unity and search in the morning."

"Hannibal," Face started to protest, but the colonel cut him off.

"It's too dark, and we aren't sure where we are going. With these woods, we could miss the turn and not even know it. Besides, if we rush into this, we could get ourselves and Murdock killed."

"Colonel's right, Faceman," BA agreed, turning his eyes from the road for a moment to glance back at his teammate. "If we..."

"BA! Look out!" Hannibal yelled.

BA whipped back around and slammed on the brakes, swerving sharply. He briefly saw a flash of something light colored on the road ahead of him as the van skidded to a halt. He closed his eyes instinctively as he both heard and felt the thump of the van hitting something.

Hannibal recovered first and whipped open the door. BA put the van in park and opened his door as Face slid open the side door.

The big sergeant's heart gave a lurch as he rounded the front of the van and saw his commander kneeling next to a man lying face down on the pavement.

He saw the colonel freeze in the headlights after turning over the body. BA closed his eyes. He had killed him. He had taken his eyes off the road, and he had killed someone.

His eyes snapped open as he heard Hannibal's strangled whisper, "It's Murdock."

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
Sunlight streaming in the window woke him. He tried to move his head but had to stop as a wave of pain hit him.

'Okay. Enough of that,' he thought, freezing all movement and waiting for the pain to stop. When it did, he decided to take stock of himself and his surroundings as much as he could with his eyes shut. He did not think he could open them quite yet.

From the feel of it, he was in a bed. He hurt all over. The last thing he remembered was a blinding light, then nothing. Before that...before that, he had been running from something, someone.

Panic overtook him as the memories suddenly flooded back. They had caught him. His eyes snapped open, and he began to look wildly around the room, trying desperately to get up.

"Hannibal, he's awake," a voice called from beside him, a very familiar voice, and he swung his unfocused eyes around, trying to locate it.

Hands took hold of him and he struggled wildly. Clemente was not going to get him again, not without a fight.

"Shhh. Murdock, calm down. It's me. BA, I need help." More hands took hold of him, but they were gentle and the familiar voice continued to try to soothe him.

Finally, the pain took over and he relaxed back into sleep.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Hannibal paced back and forth at the foot of the beds in the small hotel room they had rented in Unity. He desperately needed a cigar, but Murdock was having enough trouble breathing without that. He didn't want to leave, either. The last time he had stepped out for a cigar, Murdock had awoken in a panic.

As he paced, he looked at his men. BA sat in a seat by the window, keeping watch. Murdock had been running from something, or someone, probably this Clemente character, and they didn't want anyone to sneak up on them until they knew more about the situation.

Face was curled up asleep in an armchair by Murdock's bed. The conman had insisted on remaining by the pilot's side all night, and Hannibal had not fought it. The long weeks of uncertainty had taken their toll. He needed to be close to his best friend as much as Murdock needed him to be there. They all felt that way to an extent. Hannibal paused in his pacing to tuck the blanket in from where it had slipped from the shoulders of the exhausted conman. Face stirred, but did not awaken.

As he straightened and turned to check on Murdock, he found the pilot's eyes open and watching him. Careful not to jostle the injured man, Hannibal sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Welcome back, Captain," he said softly. BA straightened and looked over at them, but did not leave his post. Murdock's eyes flicked from Hannibal to BA then over to Face. Hannibal understood the look and reached over to shake Face awake. The conman stirred and opened his eyes groggily. When he saw Murdock staring back at him, he snapped fully awake.

"Murdock," he breathed, "you're awake."

Murdock opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, licking dry lips. He tried to move, but Hannibal laid a restraining hand on his arm.

"Hold still. I'll get it." He got up and retrieved a glass of water from the tap and handed it to Face who had carefully levered Murdock into a partial sitting position, pushing pillows behind his back for support. Face helped Murdock hold the glass as the pilot drank greedily. At last, he sank back onto the pillows with a sigh.

"Where are we?" he asked wearily, his voice little more than a croaky whisper.

"A little town called Unity in Saskatchewan, Canada. We're in a small hotel near the edge of town," Hannibal replied, sitting at the foot of the bed.

"Canada?" Murdock repeated, a vague confused look on his face.

Hannibal frowned. The pilot was obviously still disoriented. "How are you feeling, Captain?"

Murdock paused, closing his eyes for a moment before whispering, "Like I crashed a plane then got hit by a bus." A small smile crossed his face.

Face laughed. "You don't know how close you are, buddy."

Murdock looked questioningly at Hannibal. "I was hit by a bus?"

Hannibal smiled. "No, the van. We didn't hit you really, just tapped you, but it was enough to keep you unconscious all night."

"Fool ran out in front of me," BA growled, but his voice was gentler than usual, and there was an apologetic note. The small smile flickered across Murdock's face once more.

"I can't tell you how nice it feels to hear you call me that, big guy, but did you have to hit me so hard? I think you broke every bone in my body." BA growled and Murdock gave a small laugh. His smile turned into a wince and he shifted his body. He closed his eyes tightly and waited for the pain to pass.

"Actually," Hannibal spoke up, "We're pretty sure you only cracked a couple of ribs. You are going to be swollen and sore for a couple of days, though. The things we were most concerned about, however, were your head wound and other...older...injuries. You were already weak from loss of blood when we found you." He paused, but Murdock didn't speak. Instead, he dropped his eyes and began to play with the bedspread.

"We wanted to get you to a doctor," Face continued, "but everything was closed up, and we weren't sure how close the nearest town with a hospital was. So we just brought you here to check you over."

"We had to put in some stitches, but you seemed okay for the most part," Hannibal finished. "Is there anything more serious than the cuts and bruises and other obvious injuries we found?" He paused expectantly.

Murdock began to shift his body, testing each of his limbs. His face tensed from pain, but he was able to move around okay. He looked up at his commander and gave a weak smile.

"Give me a day or two, and I'll be hunky dory, Colonel."

Hannibal looked piercingly at him, and Murdock looked quickly down. 'I have a feeling it will be more than a day or two before you are hunky dory, Captain,' Hannibal thought grimly, but he left it alone for the time being.

"Face, there's a diner across the street. Why don't you go see if you can get some breakfast for us and some oatmeal or something light for Murdock."

Face looked as though he was going to argue, but at a look from his commander, he relented and slipped out of the room.

He was back in twenty minutes with eggs, bacon and toast for himself, Hannibal and BA, and some cream of wheat for Murdock.

When Murdock had finished the warm mush, Hannibal ordered him back to sleep, and he gladly slipped off into a deep slumber.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

_Fear. Heart pounding, he ran through never ending woods that constantly reached out branches, clutching at his clothes and tripping him. Every time he fell, his chasers got closer. He heard the baying of dogs and the snapping of whips._

_Suddenly, he felt hands grab him from behind, throwing him to the ground. He flipped over to find Clemente leaning over him, the old man's features twisted into an evil leer._

_"You failed, Captain," he said threateningly. "And you know what the price of failure is." He held a burning brand and lowered it onto Murdock's suddenly naked flesh. Pain ripped through his body and he screamed._

**_-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-_**

"Murdock, wake up!" Face shook his friend's shoulder, trying to pull him out of the nightmare.

Murdock's eyes flew open. When he saw Face leaning over him, he reached out and grabbed the conman's shirt, trembling violently. "Clemente...he," he swallowed convulsively trying to push back the fear and memories of pain.

Face pulled Murdock close to him and held his friend until the trembling stopped. The two stayed that way for a few minutes until the pilot gently pushed away. Face helped him take a drink of water then settle back onto his pillow.

Hannibal and BA stood at the foot of the bed, with worried looks on their faces. Murdock tried to smile reassuringly at them, but the smile slipped and he closed his eyes instead.

He heard his friends moving around the room, and, a short time later, he smelled food. Someone sat down on the bed beside him. He opened his eyes as Hannibal set a tray with mashed potatoes and gravy and a bit of roast beef on the bedside table.

"You need to eat, Murdock," Hannibal said quietly, helping the pilot into a sitting position with pillows propped behind his back before placing the tray on his lap.

Murdock saw that Face was sitting by the window eating, while BA ate in a chair near the bed. He realized that he must have dropped off to sleep again. He didn't remember anyone leaving to get the food.

Taking the offered fork and spoon, he took a bite. Then, realizing how hungry he was, he began shoveling the food into his mouth until Hannibal caught his arm.

"Slow down. Take it easy or you'll either choke or puke it all up again." Murdock nodded and slowed his pace. When he had finished, Hannibal took the tray and put it on the bedside table before turning his piercing gaze on Murdock.

"I think it's time we got some things out in the open." Murdock dropped his eyes again.

"Captain," Hannibal said in a gentle but firm tone, and Murdock raised his gaze to meet his commander's.

"We need to know what happened so that we can deal with it. Until then, we're all still in danger. Will you tell us?" Hannibal kept the pilot's gaze until Murdock nodded and began to speak in a halting voice.

He started with the evacuation of the hospital and his subsequent kidnapping. He told how Clemente had wanted to use him as his own personal collector pilot. His voice faltered when he related his first escape attempt and what Clemente had done to him.

Hannibal and Face exchanged glances. Matching fury burned in both sets of blue eyes. Behind them, BA growled and punched a fist into his hand. With a single gesture, though, Hannibal silenced him and motioned for Murdock to continue.

Murdock finished his story with his decision to crash the plane and slip through the fence. He smiled as BA muttered "crazy fool" just loud enough for him to hear. There was a hint of admiration in the big man's tone.

"Anyway, I wanted to put as much distance between myself and them as I could. I found the hole under the fence easily enough, but then I got lost in the woods beyond it. It was as much luck as anything else that I stumbled across the road. I don't remember finding it, really, just running, then a bright light and nothing."

Hannibal nodded and stood up from his place on the bed. Moving over to the window, he pulled out a cigar and began to chew on it without lighting it. Face stood up and gave Murdock a glass of water which he took gratefully. His voice was nearly hoarse from all the talking, but he realized it felt like a load had been lifted off his back. He wasn't alone in this anymore, and somehow, he knew things would be okay…maybe not right away, but eventually.

"What about you guys?" Murdock asked after he had drained the glass. "How did you find me? I thought you thought I was dead, so I didn't expect you to come after me."

Face glanced at the colonel's back before he began to relate the process that had led them to Murdock. The pilot grinned when he heard how Decker's involvement had set the Team on the trail of the bombers and ultimately Clemente. He'd always sensed there was something honorable in the army colonel. Lynch would never have helped the Team in such a way. Murdock turned his mind back to the story as Face continued.

"It took us quite a while to locate the right Clemente. The Italian title attached to his name helped a bit, but we kept running into dead ends. You wouldn't believe how many Clementes there are in the world and since we had no way of knowing how far away you had been taken...I mean, for all we knew, you might have been taken to Italy." Face shrugged apologetically.

"I actually ran across this lead quite accidentally. A girl I know is really interested in game preserves and has quite an extensive knowledge of where various preserves are located." Murdock almost laughed. Trust Face to get the information out of a girl.

"I ran into her when I was doing some research in the library, and it sort of popped up in the conversation." Face smiled almost dreamily and Murdock figured he was remembering how pretty the girl was. The conman continued almost immediately, however.

"She mentioned that she knew of an Italian multi-billionaire named Alexander Clemente who had built an extensive game preserve and research station near where she grew up in Saskatchewan. We were running out of leads by that time, so we decided to check it out."

He chuckled softly as he remembered the next part of the story. "We wrapped Jackson and Riter up and dropped them off at the army base for Decker complete with a taped confession of what they had done. The rest is history." He smiled and spread his hands.

Murdock nodded thoughtfully, and there was silence as each team member digested what they had been told. Finally, Murdock looked at Hannibal and asked, "So, what's the plan, Colonel?"

**TBC**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Warnings: Mild violence

See chapter 1 for disclaimers and further information.

A/N – Here's a nice long one for you folks. I couldn't figure out how to break it up without ruining the sequence and now you have a nice cliffie to keep you entertained as well. Enjoy.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Face stood next to the window in their hotel room and twitched aside the curtain. Hannibal and BA had been gone for over an hour on a scouting mission to scope out the entrance to Clemente's place. He hoped they got back soon. He was getting tired of waiting. It was time to move.

A small grunt from behind him made him turn. Murdock was seated on the edge of the bed, putting his shoes on. The pilot was wearing a pair khaki pants and a plain black sweater that Face had brought with him from LA. The conman had even thought to bring along a dark blue baseball cap that he had bought for his friend since the old one had been destroyed with the VA.

Murdock had been overjoyed to get rid of the pale gray uniform and had been delighted with the cap, immediately using it to cover his receding hairline. The only thing missing from the ensemble was the familiar leather jacket that Clemente had taken.

Face watched his friend struggle with his shoelaces for a moment before asking quietly, "Murdock, why do you have to do this?" The pilot froze, not looking at him, and Face continued. "You should be in a hospital or at least in a bed for a couple more days, not following one of Hannibal's hair brained schemes in the front door."

He still did not understand why the colonel had agreed the night before last when Murdock had insisted on being included in Hannibal's plan. The pilot had clearly not been well, barely able to sit up on his own. The day spent in bed while the others dug up information on Clemente's operation had helped a little, but Murdock still looked as though he should be flat on his back.

Murdock straightened his shoulders before turning to face his best friend with a shrug, a slight smile crossing his face. "Why not?" he asked casually in an obvious attempt to downplay his friend's concern.

When Face only glared in response, Murdock turned away, shifting uncomfortably. After a moment, he spoke quietly. "All the while I was with Clemente, the biggest thing they stressed was 'Don't bother to fight. It's not worth it.'"

He paused, looking down at his shoes. "After my first escape attempt failed..." He closed his eyes and a muscle in his jaw jumped a few times before he continued. "I began to believe them. I figured you guys thought I was dead, and since there was no way to let you know otherwise, the easiest thing to do was give up and not fight anymore."

Taking a deep breath, Murdock levered himself to his feet and walked over to the bathroom where he looked at his face in the mirror. Rubbing the stubble on his chin, he turned slightly. "Face, do you have a..."

The conman walked over to the foot of the bed and hunted through his bag. Locating the razor and shaving cream, he handed them to the pilot.

"Thanks," Murdock said, using the cream to lather his face. Grabbing the razor, he stood there for a moment, looking at his reflection in the mirror. "You know what it was that convinced me to keep fighting?"

Face shook his head wordlessly, and the pilot shaved for a few minutes before continuing. "I had a dream, the night before I escaped and found you guys." Pausing to rinse the razor, he smiled slightly. "You were with me in this strange room, and you kept telling me to fight, to not give up."

Face felt something jump in his stomach. It couldn't be. It was flat impossible, but before he knew it, the words were out of his mouth. "Were you building a brick wall?"

Murdock turned, the razor half raised, surprise on his face. The two friends eyed each other for a few moments before Murdock's lips twitched upward into a smile. A maniacal gleam suddenly appeared in his eyes. "Now you gotta believe in ESP," he said, grinning wickedly, specks of lather still clinging to his cheeks.

Suddenly he squeezed his eyes shut. "Concentrate, Face. What am I thinking?"

Face laughed as he moved over to sit on one of the beds. It was nice to see Murdock acting normal. He had been way too serious since waking up.

"C'mon, Faceman. Guess. What am I thinking about?"

"You are wondering how you can use this to distract me from my original question," Face replied, his lips still twitching with laughter.

"It works," Murdock breathed, looking skyward with a look of awe on his face.

Forcing away the laughter, Face said sternly, "Seriously, Murdock."

Murdock sighed and turned around to face the mirror again. For several long moments, he said nothing, studying his reflection as if trying to understand his own reasoning. Finally, he began to speak once more, haltingly, as if uncertain where he was going.

"After I had that dream, I kept hearing you talking to me, telling me not to give up, not to stop fighting...not to fail. Eventually I listened just to get you to shut up." He shrugged and gave a small laugh.

Face studied the floor in silence for a moment as he tried to comprehend what his friend was telling him. Finally, he pushed the thoughts away and concentrated on directing the conversation back to safer ground less troubled by his still roiling emotions.

"That still doesn't explain why you are doing this. We'll take care of Clemente. You don't ever have to go near him again." He paused and swallowed hard before adding, "I don't think you should."

Murdock sighed. Scraping the last of the hair from beneath his chin, he turned on the water and rinsed the razor thoroughly. Washing the excess cream off his face, he grabbed the towel and used it to wipe his face dry. Throwing it down, he turned to face his friend and leaned against the counter.

"It's just something I've gotta do, Faceman. Clemente took something important from me, and I intend to get it back."

"Your jacket?" Face asked, confused. "We can find that just as easily as you and bring it back to you."

"Well, that too," Murdock said absently, staring off into space. "But I was talking about something more important." Murdock turned piercing brown eyes to meet his friend's blue ones. "You don't understand. I have a score to settle with Clemente, and it's payback time." There was a hard intensity in Murdock's voice that Face had not heard in a long time…since 'Nam, in fact.

Slowly, he nodded. He thought he understood what Murdock was talking about. He knew what it was like to have his self-respect stripped away by another. He also understood how important it was to confront the one responsible for doing that.

Sighing, he got up and moved back to the window. He wouldn't fight it anymore, but he was determined to protect his friend and make sure he wasn't hurt by Clemente ever again.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Dusk was falling over the Canadian countryside as a battered figure struggled up the road to the gate guarding the entrance to Alexandre Clemente's Private Game Preserve and Research Center. His shirt was torn, and he was holding a bloodstained handkerchief to his face. Startled, the two guards on duty left the guard house to meet the dusty figure.

"Please, help me," the man mumbled into the handkerchief, stumbling and almost falling. One of the guards grabbed his arm and helped him regain his balance. "We've had a terrible accident down on the main road. I think my wife is dying. Please...I need a phone to call for help."

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

BA watched from the darkness of the trees as the conman disappeared with the two guards into the guardhouse. A rustling beside him drew his attention, and he frowned in irritation. Hannibal had told the pilot to stay back with the van until they returned. Murdock moved up beside the big sergeant and gave him a grin. BA simply scowled in return.

As the captain settled in beside him, BA took the opportunity to study the lanky form. Murdock's face was still unusually pale, even in the darkness, but otherwise he looked all right.

BA didn't claim to fully understand his friend's motivation in coming, but if Hannibal thought it was okay, he wouldn't fight it. Curiously enough, although Face had initially argued fiercely against the pilot's presence, he must have changed his mind, for he hadn't said anything about it when BA and Hannibal had returned from their scouting mission.

If neither Face nor Hannibal were prepared to stop the captain from coming, he wasn't going to make a fuss. However, he remembered the look in Hannibal's eyes as they had discussed the plan prior to returning to the hotel room.

The colonel had matter of factly told BA that he was going to place Murdock and him together during the attack, only his eyes showing his concern. The underlying request was obvious, and BA understood. He was the best person to look out for the pilot.

His jaw clenched. He couldn't wait to find the ones who had hurt his friend so he could make them pay.

Murdock must have felt BA's eyes on him. He turned and gave the sergeant a smile and a thumbs up. BA shook his head, but couldn't keep the smile from his face. He had to admit that it was nice to have the fun-loving Texan back even if the man insisted on risking his fool neck. The smile quickly returned to a scowl.

His attention snapped back to the gate as it slowly began to swing open. Touching Murdock lightly on the shoulder, he moved back down to the curve in the road where they had stashed the van. He heard the pilot moving behind him, and across the road, Hannibal appeared from the underbrush. The colonel moved silently over to join them, giving the pilot a sharp look before opening the passenger side door. He didn't say anything, however, and Murdock climbed into the back, leaving the sliding door open for Face.

Getting in the driver's side of his beloved van, BA started her up, listening to the quiet purr of the engine that barely disturbed the night around them. When his companions were in, he pulled smoothly out onto the road and past the guardhouse. The gates swung silently shut behind him, and he stopped the van long enough for Face to race out and get in.

"They'll sleep like babies until the next shift finds them," the conman stated with a smug smile as he pulled the sliding door shut.

Hannibal grinned back at his second in command. "Nice, Face. That means we've got about two hours, guys." Sitting back in his seat, the colonel pulled out his black gloves and put them on. "Murdock, do you know how far it is to the main house?"

Murdock shook his head. "I've never been on this road. When I ran cross country, I'd guess it was about fifteen-twenty miles to the fence, but the main house should be closer to the perimeter fence than any other point. From the air, I calculated about ten miles or so, heavy woods all the way."

"Good," Hannibal replied, eyeing the road ahead. "BA, take us about seven miles, then look for a place to hide the van. We'll go the rest of the way on foot."

BA nodded, keeping his eyes on the trees along the side of the road. About fifteen minutes later, he found what he was looking for and pulled the van off into a small clearing, barely visible from the road. The Team exited the van and began to cover it with underbrush. It wasn't necessary to do too much since it was dark and the van's color would make it difficult to see.

A few minutes later, they had collected their guns and supplies from the back of the van and were ready to go.

"De ja vu," Murdock whispered with a sigh. Hannibal gave the pilot a sympathetic look before giving them the order to move out. Face moved forward to take the point. After a few seconds, Hannibal motioned for BA and Murdock to follow, while he took rear guard.

They moved along in silence for about twenty minutes, flitting like ghosts through the woods to the side of the road. BA could barely see the slight form of Face moving quickly through the trees ahead. Only the moonlight betrayed him, occasionally shining through the thick foliage to sparkle on the conman's hair.

Glancing over at his companion, BA noticed the pilot lagging and slowed to a stop. Murdock waved a hand that he was all right, but he bent over, one hand on his knee, his breath coming in short gasps. Moments later, Hannibal caught up with them.

As Murdock straightened, the colonel looked him over carefully. "Can you make it? It's not too late to go back to the van."

Murdock shook his head, a determined fire in his eyes. "I will make it," he said quietly. "I'm okay, just a bit weaker than I thought, 's all." Hannibal studied him some more before nodding and motioning for them to get moving.

Ten minutes later, they rounded a bend and came in sight of the house. A familiar bird call sounded from deeper in the underbrush, and they moved over to join Face.

Murdock had described the mansion and the other buildings on the grounds as much as he could from flying over them, but the only building he had seen on the ground was the hangar. The one exception was the torture chamber, but as he had entered and left the place unconscious, he had no idea where it was.

"Well, guys, we're going into this blind," Hannibal said quietly. "It looks like the trees end about 500 yards from the house." Murdock nodded agreement as Hannibal continued. "I want us to split up and approach the house from different directions. Disable any guards and alarms you find as quietly as possible. I'd rather find Clemente before he has a clue we're here."

All three men nodded understanding, and Hannibal turned to Murdock. "Captain, I want you to stick with BA." Murdock opened his mouth to protest, but Hannibal rode over him. "I know you believe you are ready for a fist or firefight, and you may well be." There was a hint of doubt in his voice, but it disappeared as he continued. "But I would rather you didn't have to find out until absolutely necessary."

Murdock looked at Hannibal silently for a moment before nodding agreement and turning away. BA was rather surprised. He had expected the pilot to put up more of an argument, and the fact that he had given in so quickly worried him. From the looks on the faces of Hannibal and Face, it worried them too, but Hannibal gave the signal and they all moved out.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

Hannibal crept silently around the left side of the house, moving from shadow to shadow. There was plenty of shrubbery around, making it fairly easy to maneuver undetected.

Suddenly, he froze. Straining his ears, he heard the murmur of voices from around the next corner. Keeping close to the wall, he slithered up to the very edge and peered carefully around it. Two men, probably security guards, leaned against the wall next to a door, drinking coffee and enjoying the cool night air.

'Careless,' Hannibal thought with a grim smile. Neither man was paying any attention to their surroundings. Plainly they did not expect any attack, safe in the giant house's security cocoon.

The breeze shifted, and suddenly, Hannibal could hear their voices more clearly.

"...has been stomping around in a rage since we lost him," the first voice murmured.

"I know," the second guard replied. "I've been doing my best to steer clear of him. Probably wouldn't take much for him to turn one of us over to his pet torture monger."

"Only if he doesn't use those dandy tools on Forbes himself. He's furious at Forbes 'cause he was supposed to have broken that pilot."

"Yeah, Plankton's been having to lie low, too. I heard he guaranteed Captain Murdock wasn't going to rebel ever again." There was the sound of low laughter at this.

Hannibal gave a smug smile. Apparently, Clemente was still steaming over losing Murdock. That was good. An angry mark never thinks straight.

"Want a cigarette?" the first guard asked. There was a murmur of agreement. Hannibal peered around the corner again. The guard closest to him had his back turned, lighting a cigarette in the mouth of his companion.

Hannibal took advantage of the distraction. He whipped around the corner, bringing his gun up simultaneously. The guard facing him jumped and dropped the cigarette. His companion started to turn, but it was too late.

Hannibal brought the butt of the gun down on the neck of the guard nearest him, dropping him instantly. In the same fluid motion, he pivoted slightly and raised his gun to cover the second guard, who stood staring at him in shock.

"Say one word and I fire," Hannibal warned in a low voice. The guard nodded mutely, raising his hands away from his body. Hannibal moved close enough to grab the gun from the guard's belt. Moving back a few feet, he reached into his pocket for a ball of thin but strong strips of rope which he tossed to the startled guard.

"Tie up your friend, and make it good and tight," Hannibal ordered. The guard nodded and complied. When he stood up again, the colonel knelt, careful not to let his eyes leave the guard, and tested the bonds. Satisfied, he stood and stepped back.

"Okay, drag him over there and hide him in the bushes." He gestured at a clump of shrubbery near the door. Grunting softly, the guard obeyed.

"All right," Hannibal said, giving the man a brilliant smile. "You're going to take me to the guard room where you monitor all of the security cameras." Keeping the gun trained on the guard, he watched as the man withdrew a ring of keys and unlocked the door.

They walked through several empty hallways and rooms, avoiding a number of security cameras before the guard paused at a door.

"In there?" Hannibal whispered, eyeing the unobtrusive doorway almost hidden in an alcove. "How many guards are usually on duty in there at once?" The guard hesitated. Hannibal raised the gun slightly. "Listen, pal. You cooperate, you get out of this without a scratch. Understand?"

The guard nodded, whispering breathlessly, "Two. There are always two guards on duty in there. Tommy and I just got off duty."

Hannibal smiled. Perfect. He had been hoping the shift changes he and BA had observed at the gate would be consistent throughout the compound. With a jerk of his head, he ordered the guard to open the door.

Holding the gun to the man's back, the two entered the room. A pair of guards sat chatting in front of two large banks of monitors. The remains of donuts and coffee sat in front of them. When the door opened, they both swung around in their chairs.

"George. What are you..." The speaker cut off as he noticed Hannibal, and, more importantly, the gun. Hannibal smiled brightly as both guards raised their hands.

Very shortly, all three men were bound and gagged with their handkerchiefs along one edge of the wall. Looking around, Hannibal noticed another door along the wall near one of the banks of monitors.

Jerking the gag off of the first guard he had captured, he gestured at the door with his gun. "Where does that go?"

The guard looked at his companions fearfully before replying. "It's another security room. The Padrone has the compound divided into several independent security zones, but occasionally he has the cameras from a particular zone feed directly into that room."

"Is anyone in there?"

"No," the guard said, shaking his head. "Cle...I mean, the Padrone is the only one who uses it, and sometimes Plankton."

"The chief of security?" Hannibal asked idly, eyeing the door.

The guard nodded and Hannibal replaced the gag before walking to the door. Turning the knob, he carefully opened it, gun ready. However, the room was dark. Feeling along the wall, he found the light switch and turned it on.

It was just as the guard had said. The room was almost entirely bare except for a small bank of monitors and a couple chairs. It was empty and all the screens were blank, so Hannibal switched off the light and moved over to examine the two larger banks of monitors in the main room.

One set seemed to be devoted entirely to the grounds outside the mansion, concentrating mostly on main entrances and heavy traffic areas. As he looked down the row of screens, he felt a brief surge of satisfaction. His men had to be entering the complex right about now, but none of the extraordinary number of cameras showed anything out of the ordinary. He'd have to remember to commend them when they got out of this.

Moving to the other bank of monitors, he saw that they covered the interior of the mansion. He located the kitchen, the dining room, library, several offices, including one large one that probably belonged to Clemente. He studied that last one carefully. It was pretty much dark, and there was no movement. The camera next to it panned back and forth in the hallway outside what looked like the same ornate door.

Moving on, he found a room that made his eyes narrow. The dimly lit walls were hung with all sorts of torture paraphernalia. Cabinets with glass doors displayed some of the smaller items. In the center of the room was what looked like an operating table. On it were spread a variety of bottles filled with different color liquids.

A man in a white lab coat, gloves and safety glasses was carefully mixing the substances and taking notes. 'Probably Forbes,' he thought with pursed lips. The man's description matched what Murdock had told them. He felt anger burning inside, but he pushed it aside. He would go back for him later. Right now, he needed to find...

"Ah ha," he murmured, pleased. "Here you are." The last set of cameras focused on the inside and outside of a bedroom in which an old man lay sleeping. He watched the screen for a few moments, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a stick of chewing gum.

He grimaced at it before unwrapping it and sticking it in his mouth. He didn't usually chew gum, but the look on his lieutenant's face when he had asked for some had been priceless. He couldn't help grinning at the memory.

The grin widened as he noticed that a blueprint of the mansion with the location of every security camera had been posted between the banks of monitors.

He studied the map for a few moments. Then, taking note of the location of Clemente's room, he turned to the guards and withdrew a bottle and a cloth. Wetting the cloth filled the room with a pungent smell.

"Sorry guys," Hannibal said apologetically before slapping the cloth over the nose of the first guard. "I can't afford the possibility you might work free before I'm done here."

When all the guards lay unconscious on the floor, Hannibal slipped out of the room, locking it behind him. Looking around him, he grinned as he pulled the gum out of his mouth and jammed it into the keyhole.

"I've always wanted to do that," he said with a chuckle before moving off down the hallway in search of his quarry.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
Face cracked open the door at the top of the servant's staircase he had located in the kitchen. The stairs opened into a large hallway on the second floor. Seeing no security cameras, he moved quickly down the hall, briefly noting the expensive paintings and rich pottery displays that lined the walls, not to mention the thick, luxurious carpeting that muffled the sounds of his footsteps.

Approaching a corner, he peered around it, noting the camera mounted high on the wall next to him. His eyes went to the large, ornately carved door it guarded. He smiled as he noticed the old fashioned lock on the door. It shouldn't take him two seconds to open that.

Pulling out his lock picks, he considered the door. There was a good possibility that it led into Clemente's room, and he loosened his gun in its shoulder holster just in case.

As the camera turned away, he raced forward, picked the lock and slipped inside the room in eight seconds flat. He grinned to himself. Hannibal would be proud.

He froze as he noticed the second camera that patrolled the inside of what he now saw was a large office including a small library and a sitting area. The camera was slowly panning towards him, and he dove quickly behind the large desk in the center of the room.

He frowned in annoyance. What kind of person used cameras on both the inside and outside of rooms? This would not make things very easy.

Barely sticking an eye above the edge of the desk, he watched the camera pan back and forth, noting its speed and rhythm.

He guessed that he was in Clemente's office. Not exactly what he wanted, but perhaps useful nonetheless. When he felt certain of the camera's movements, he began to search the office. It was like a tricky sort of dance, search and duck, and it prevented any sort of thorough search. However, he quickly hit pay dirt - a safe conveniently located below the desk and out of sight of the camera.

'Not too smart, are you,' he thought dryly. 'What's the point of a security camera if your most precious papers and possessions can be accessed without it seeing?' Shaking his head, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a small listening device specially designed for cracking safes.

Within moments, the safe had been cracked and he was pulling out documents of all shapes and sizes. Sorting through them quickly, he noticed that most seemed to be detailed financial reports.

On the top of the stack, however, was a small leather bound book. Opening it, he flipped through a couple of pages before his eyes widened and he sucked in a startled breath.

It appeared to be a journal - Clemente's journal. What was so shocking was the fact that it recorded, in detail, the kidnapping and subsequent 'taming' of Murdock and several other men and women, some of whom had died under his treatment.

He was so absorbed in the journal, that he almost didn't hear the slight squeak as the office door opened. Cursing silently to himself, he pressed his back against the wood of the desk. Glancing down at the safe, he noticed the tiny wires dangling from the hinges. Silent alarm. He closed his eyes in dismay. How could he have been so stupid?

He touched the gun in his holster, but quickly discarded that idea. A shootout with a security guard would only bring half the house down on him. Maybe he could bluff his way out of this.

The footsteps rounded the desk, and Face saw the gun first as the man holding it swung into view. The conman grinned brightly at the man's angry brown eyes.

"Get up," the man barked. He didn't seem to be a guard, the uniform was not quite the same. Of course, that didn't really matter. At the moment, he was the one pointing the gun. Shrugging, Face got to his feet.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

Face raised his eyebrows innocently. "Would you believe Prince Charming? I seem to have lost my girlfriend's glass slipper and I was hoping I could find it here." He almost laughed at the mixed look of confusion and anger on the other's face.

"Put your hands up," the man barked impatiently. Shrugging again, Face complied, looking around the office.

"Nice place you've got here. Does it belong to you?" This guy was definitely too young to be Clemente. Murdock had described him as older than Hannibal. While maintaining the facade of casual indifference, Face watched the man carefully as he shifted the gun to one hand and reached forward to take the weapon out of the conman's holster.

"Never you mind who..." The man gave a startled yelp as, quick as lightning, Face grabbed the wrist with the gun, twisting as he did so. Almost before the man knew anything had happened, his arm was twisted up behind his back, and the gun had fallen from nerveless fingers.

Face neatly caught the falling weapon and pressed it hard into the man's side while retaining pressure on the arm. "Now why don't you tell me who you are?" he growled softly.

"Plankton, Howard Plankton. I'm the chief of security," the man gasped out, rising on his toes to ease the pressure on his shoulder and arm.

"Very well, Howard," Face said lightly. "Why don't you give me your other hand?" Pocketing the gun, he pulled out a strip of nylon rope and bound Plankton's arms and wrists tightly behind him.

"You won't get away with this," Plankton observed nastily. "That security camera is recording everything we are doing. In minutes this place is going to be crawling with my men."

"Well," Face said, grabbing the pile of papers on the floor and gesturing toward the door to the office. "Why don't we get out of here before they have a chance to spoil the fun? Remember, if you call out or make a sound, I'll kill you." Plankton nodded and moved obediently for the door.

As Face moved to follow, his eye was caught by an open box under some book shelves, out of which a very familiar piece of brown leather peeked out. Hissing at Plankton to stop, Face edged sideways to the box, still keeping his eyes on the security chief.

He saw that the box was filled with the personal belongings of people, each neatly tagged and labeled. Murdock's jacket was on top as though someone had pulled it out to look at and had carelessly tossed it back inside without bothering to close the box.

Tucking the files and papers under the arm with the gun, he grabbed the jacket and gestured for Plankton to leave the room. Part of him was surprised that no guards had shown up yet, but he decided not to dwell on his good fortune.

Instead, he spoke to Plankton's back. "Now, I think we need to pay a visit to your master."

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
Murdock and BA had worked their way around to the back of the house and had slipped in that way. They had run into a few guards along this route, but BA had dealt with them swiftly and silently. Most were now stuffed in various closets and dark rooms, bound, gagged, and unconscious. The worst was the various security cameras that they had to dodge.

BA wanted to head to the center of the house and up a couple of stories where he felt sure they would find Clemente, but they were forced to make their way through back hallways in search of a stairway up that would be less guarded.

They were now huddled together at a corner, eyeing a camera that was obviously guarding a room in the far rear corner of the south part of the house, near the kitchens. The corridors around them were empty and bare of the rich furnishings they had seen in the rest of the house. It did not look as though this area was heavily travelled, so the presence of the security camera was confusing.

BA was about to suggest they backtrack and take another route, when a man rounded a corner on the opposite side of the security camera. He was dressed in a white lab coat and was carrying a mug of what looked like coffee. Fumbling in his pocket for a key, the man proceeded to unlock the door and enter the room.

As soon as Murdock saw the man, his body went rigid. BA looked at his friend with concern. Murdock was as pale as a ghost, but there was a gleaming intensity in his normally soft brown eyes that was getting stronger every second.

"Murdock?" BA whispered, laying a hand on the pilot's shoulder.

Murdock jumped and turned to face BA completely. The big sergeant was startled by the wild look of fury and hatred that suddenly consumed the captain's normally gentle features.

Before BA could stop him, Murdock was up and running toward the door. Cursing softly, the big man raced after him. Following his friend in the door, he barely had time to register his surroundings as Murdock flung himself across the room onto the tiny man with the pinched features.

The man squealed, but Murdock did not make a sound as he repeatedly slammed his fist into the man's stomach and face. BA reached him just as he had grabbed the man's head and was preparing to slam it against the floor, probably with a force that could kill him.

"Murdock, no!" BA cried, grabbing the pilot's arms. The captain struggled wildly in BA's grip for a moment before slumping to the floor in exhaustion. BA checked the bloody and battered face of the man on the floor long enough to see that he was still breathing.

Then he knelt next to his friend's trembling form and gathered him close. BA was not a man that enjoyed physical contact, but somehow, he knew that was what Murdock needed right now. During the camps, they had comforted each other in this manner, and BA sensed that this situation was not that different.

The pilot's body was trembling violently. BA rocked slowly, murmuring soothing sounds in an attempt to calm Murdock down. After a moment, he felt the smaller man's hands grab the sides of his shirt, twisting the cloth with the force of his grip.

As they rocked, BA looked around the room at the horrible implements on the walls and in the cabinets. Suddenly, he knew who the man was that Murdock had attacked and why the pilot had done so.

He felt the anger building up in him, and he realized he actually regretted stopping Murdock when he did. Part of him wanted to get up and teach the man some BA Baracus justice, but that would have meant letting go of the pilot, and he was not about to do that.

Turning his head away from the still form of the torturer, his eyes caught sight of a security camera mounted in the corner of the room opposite them. He groaned inwardly. Even if they had missed seeing them from the camera in the hall, they could not miss them now.

He did not know why there weren't guards crawling all over the place by now, but he knew he needed to get Murdock out of there as much for the pilot's sake as for the fear of being caught.

He realized that Murdock's trembling had slowed and his breathing sounded calmer. When BA said his name gently, Murdock released his grip on the sergeant's shirt and leaned back.

Avoiding BA's eyes, he whispered, "I'm sorry. I guess I just lost control."

"It's okay, li'l brother," BA said quietly and Murdock looked at him in surprise. BA used that term for the children in his daycare centers and under rare circumstances for Face, but he had never called him that.

BA grinned at the look on the pilot's face. "I understand, okay." He directed Murdock's attention to the camera on the wall. "But we need to get out of here, or we'll be meeting Clemente in a way we ain't planned."

Murdock nodded and got up slowly, still trying to regain complete control. His eyes turned hard again as he studied the still form on the floor. "Forbes," he said bitterly. "He was the one who..."

"I know," BA interrupted, "But he's not the one we're after, remember?" He continued to speak in a tone he usually reserved for the children in the daycare center, the ones who were frightened or lonely. It seemed more appropriate at the moment than his usual growls.

Remarkably, Murdock responded to either the words or the tone and turned away from Forbes. He followed BA to the door, his eyes carefully glued to the floor. But suddenly he stopped.

BA turned, hoping he wasn't going to crack again, but Murdock was looking at him with a crafty smile.

"BA, I've got an idea," he said slowly. "Why go searching all over for Clemente and risk getting caught when we have someone right here who can lead us directly to him."

As if to punctuate the pilot's statement, a low groan sounded from across the room. BA slowly smiled, and the two walked back to wake their new tour guide, and, if necessary, hostage.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
A chill breeze blowing through the glass veranda doors woke Alexandre Clemente from a pleasant dream in which he had the largest collections in the world and armies of servants to maintain them.

Rolling over, he tried to ignore the breeze, but finally, muttering curses, he laboriously got out of bed and went to close the doors. His memory must be getting worse, he decided. He could have sworn he had closed them before he went to bed.

As his hand rested on the latch, he froze, feeling the cold barrel of a gun pressing into the back of his neck.

"Move and all this nice furniture around us will need a thorough cleaning," a cold voice said from the darkness behind him. "But I don't think blood comes out very well, so I suggest you do exactly as I tell you."

**TBC**

**A/N – **And there you have it. I wonder who got there first and what Clemente plans to do about it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 and Epilogue**

Warnings: None

See chapter 1 for disclaimers and further information.

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT****  
**  
_A chill breeze blowing through the glass veranda doors woke Alexandre Clemente from a pleasant dream in which he had the largest collections in the world and armies of servants to maintain them._

_Rolling over, he tried to ignore the breeze, but finally, muttering curses, he laboriously got out of bed and went to close the doors. His memory must be getting worse, he decided. He could have sworn he had closed them before he went to bed._

_As his hand rested on the latch, he froze, feeling the cold barrel of a gun pressing into the back of his neck._

_"Move and all this nice furniture around us will need a thorough cleaning," a cold voice said from the darkness behind him. "But I don't think blood comes out very well, so I suggest you do exactly as I tell you."_

"Who are you, and how did you get in here?" Clemente asked in a hoarse voice that he still managed to make demanding.

The barrel of the gun was removed and a light flicked on in the room. Clemente turned and saw a silver haired man dressed almost completely in black staring back at him over the barrel of the gun.

"Who I am is of no importance, but if you must know, I'm Hannibal Smith, of the A-Team." He cocked his head as if waiting for Clemente to recognize the name.

He wrinkled his brow, thinking. It did sound familiar, but...he jerked his eyes back to the face of the man who held him at gunpoint. "You are the leader of the unit Captain Murdock was associated with in Vietnam. Aren't you also on the run from the United States government? For robbing a bank, I think it was?" He cocked his head arrogantly, but inside he was seething. Caught by a common criminal.

Smith smiled. "Yes, and Captain Murdock happens to be a good friend of my team." His voice, though conversational, was still soft and deadly and his smile failed to reach his eyes. "As for how I got in here, simple. I walked in. You are so pompously certain you are in control of everything, your security is lousy."

Clemente laughed. "Lousy, eh? Well, not so lousy as to not have a security camera in my bedroom." He pointed to the camera mounted on the wall. "Before I can say 'Boo' my men will be all over you."

"Ha!" Smith exclaimed in contempt. "How do you think I found you?"

If possibly, the intruder's smile grew even more mocking as he glanced at the camera and reached into a pocket for a cigar. A feeling of uneasiness grew in Clemente's mind as he watched Smith bite off the end, spitting it out on the carpet. Where were his men anyway? There was no way a single man could take out his entire security system. Was there?

He breathed a sigh of relief as a key sounded in the lock of his bedroom door. Smith swung around at the sound, but turned back quickly. Striding across the room, he grabbed hold of Clemente's arm and held the gun to the side of his neck. Clemente stiffened and watched as the door opened.

His chief of security, Howard Plankton, walked hesitantly into the room, his face going deathly white when he saw Smith with a gun to his master's neck. Then, from behind Plankton, a blonde haired man stepped out, the gun in his hand pointing steadily at the security chief.

The weapon at Clemente's neck was removed, and Smith moved around to stand in front of him once more. Reaching into the pocked of his coat, he withdrew a lighter.

"Hi, Face," he said, lighting the cigar. "What took you so long?" Clemente coughed as the cigar smoke drifted into his face.

"I ran into some trouble," the man identified as Face said, indicating Plankton with his gun. "However, I did manage to make some important discoveries before he showed up." He dumped a battered leather jacket on the bed that Clemente recognized as having come from his office. All blood drained from his face as a stack of papers and a leather bound book followed the jacket onto the bed.

"Guess who was careless enough to keep careful records of all illegal activities and a journal chronicling atrocities done to other human beings in a simple safe under his desk."

Smith laughed out loud, removing the cigar. "I love it. He's so overconfident..." He broke off as the door to the bedroom opened again and a battered and bloodied Forbes stumbled in, followed by an enormous black man, and...Captain Murdock.

Clemente closed his eyes briefly in disgust. "Well," he snapped, "This room is becoming a regular zoo." Glaring at Plankton and Forbes, he growled, "What did I hire you for, your looks?"

"Welcome to the party, guys," Smith said smugly. "I was so hoping you could make it."

"We had a bit of..." the black man began, glancing hesitantly at Murdock, "...trouble," he finished. The pilot did not seem to have noticed the glance. His gaze was locked on Clemente.

Silence fell over the room as Clemente met Murdock's gaze. The pilot's entire demeanor seemed distant and unattached. He moved slowly until he was directly in front of Clemente. The three intruders seemed to hold their breath, and the black man looked ready to spring forward at a moment's notice. Murdock seemed completely unaware of his friends' reactions, however.

Clemente noticed that the pilot's face was covered with half healed cuts and bruises. He couldn't help the feeling of malevolent triumph that flashed through him, but he kept his face gentle and a bit sad.

"Murdock, Murdock," the old man said, a father mourning the fact that his child has disobeyed again. Murdock didn't even blink, and Clemente continued. "I offered you the world - a job following your heart's desire, the opportunity to make use of your skills, and a sanctuary where you would never have to conform to the world's biased standards ever again. Yet you have rejected my gifts and rebelled against me time and time again."

Still Murdock didn't move, but was that a hint of doubt in his eyes? Clemente hurried on, praying that some of Forbes' conditioning remained. "I tried to make you see, to discipline you as a father would his child, but..." Then Murdock moved.

Clemente didn't even see the fist that collided with his face quicker than a striking serpent. Stars exploded behind his eyes, and darkness claimed him.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

"Captain, are you okay?" Hannibal asked softly, breaking the intense silence in the room. His friends watched in trepidation as the pilot turned slowly to face them, shaking his right hand from the force of the blow. There was a look of wonder on his face, and, slowly, his lips turned upward into a smile of genuine relief.

"Yeah, Colonel. I think I'm going to be just fine." He looked back at the unconscious form of the old man behind him. Clemente looked strangely frail and harmless lying there.

He shook his head as he felt the haze that had settled on him when he entered the room begin to lift away. "What are we going to do now, Colonel?"

Hannibal looked around at their three captives and a slow smile began to form on his lips. "Call in the clean-up crew, of course, and repay a favor at the same time."

**AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT**

**Epilogue**_  
_  
Murdock sat on the windowsill of his room and looked out at the grounds below. From this vantage point, he could see the work underway to remove the rubble and rebuild the psychiatric wing.

Until the new wing was completed, some of the patients had been moved to a psychiatric hospital on the other side of the city. The remaining patients were currently housed in the medical wing of the VA hospital where Murdock had spent the past month, recovering from his ordeal.

Turning his eyes to the main parking lot, he watched as a green military sedan pulled out. He grinned as he remembered his encounter with Decker, one of many that had occurred over the past few weeks.

The colonel had wheedled, pleaded, demanded, and tried to trick Murdock into revealing the exact nature of his relationship with the Team as well as their current location. He still did not know for sure if Murdock was a working member of the team or just an old friend whom they visited occasionally and watched out for.

Despite the fact that he had helped the team by letting them know Murdock was alive, the colonel was now stepping up his efforts to catch them. It was almost as though Decker was trying to make up for his moment of weakness. Perhaps he was also trying to forget the fact that if it hadn't been for a midnight phone call from the Team, he would never have found Clemente or solved the mystery of the VA bombing.

'Strange,' Murdock thought, 'he has not once questioned my sanity or my right to be here since this happened.' Then again, maybe it wasn't so strange. After all, Decker had most likely seen Clemente's journal account of what had happened to Murdock. He probably thought that if the pilot hadn't belonged in the VA before all this had happened, he did now.

Murdock sighed. Maybe he was right. The sessions with Dr. Richter since his escape had been intense and painful, and the nightmares were even worse. However, he did feel as though he was making some progress.

It helped to know that Clemente and all those voluntarily associated with his operation, including Forbes and Plankton, had been successfully extradited into the United States where they now awaited trial. Decker had assured him that there was more than enough evidence to put them all away for a long time.

The rest of Clemente's 'employees,' primarily those there under circumstances similar to Murdock's had been questioned and released. Murdock had wanted to ask about Ed, but dealing with Decker at this stage in the game was tricky enough and he had to limit his moments of sanity. He hoped that Ed was okay and that wherever the small mechanic was, he had found some help navigating the labyrinth of emotions and memories that Murdock himself now struggled with. Absently he rubbed at a scar on his arm, a remnant of the injuries he had received both before and during his escape. Eventually, most of the marks would fade. They would never be completely gone, but at least they would be less visible. Maybe, given time, the emotional scars would fade as well.

His eyes brightened as he saw a distinctive white convertible with a red stripe pull into the parking lot. A man in a white coat got out and hurried into the building.

He had not seen any of the Team since they had brought him back to the hospital after making sure Clemente and his goons were going to be taken care of. He had really begun to miss them, even though he had been overjoyed to return to the VA. The month of grueling therapy was beginning to wear on him and he could feel the familiar tingles of restlessness that came when he was cooped up in the VA for too long.

Minutes later, Face swept into the room, a flustered and protesting nurse in tow. The conman was talking so quickly she couldn't follow him, and, very soon, her signature was on the appropriate documents, and Murdock was walking out of the hospital with his best friend.

"So, where we going now, Faceguy," Murdock asked cheerfully, leaping over the side of the convertible with his almost recovered catlike grace. Face deliberately ignored an offense that usually would have earned Murdock a chewing out.

"We're going to meet Hannibal and BA at the airport," he said climbing into the driver's seat and starting the car. He didn't notice the pilot still and look at him with doubt in his eyes.

"The airport?" Murdock asked carefully.

"Yep." Face gave a small laugh. "BA threw a royal fit when we learned the job Hannibal wants us to take is in Colombia. We were barely able to sedate him. He was threatening to come over here and strangle you himself so we couldn't fly."

Murdock smiled. At least things with BA were back to normal. Neither of them had said anything to the others about what had occurred in Forbes' torture chamber, and they never would. However, this time, he almost wished he could side with BA.

Face must have noticed his friend's lack of enthusiasm, because he turned worried eyes from the road to look Murdock up and down. "Murdock, are you...I mean..." He stopped and turned back to the road, jerking the car back into the center of the lane. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he struggled to find the words he wanted to say.

Murdock remained silent for a moment. He had wondered how he would deal with this when it came up. He looked down at his hands and fingered the small scar on the back of his left hand where the dog had bitten him. It was almost gone. Looking up, he turned to Face with a smile, "I'm doing okay, Faceman."

Face turned to look at him again, his eyes filled with doubt, but whatever he saw on Murdock's face must have appeased him, for he gave a slight nod and returned his attention to the traffic around them. Murdock let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

There was silence in the car for a few minutes before Murdock asked idly, "So, what kind of job requires flying to Colombia?" The small knot of fear had returned, and he allowed his mind to wander as Face began to explain about some local farmers who were being terrorized by a drug lord.

He had not flown anything since Clemente's planes. He didn't know why that should affect him, but he didn't know if he could ever look at a plane in the same way again. Before he could sort his feelings out, however, Face was turning into the airport parking lot and Hannibal was racing toward them.

"What took you so long? I think we were spotted on the way over here. Help me get BA on the plane and let's get out of here.

Murdock forgot his doubts as he raced to the Lear Jet standing on the runway. Climbing up the stairs and into the cockpit, he turned on the engines and contacted the tower for permission to take off.

He heard Hannibal yell, "Go, Murdock!"

As he lined the plane up with the runway, he saw the military sedans quickly approaching. As he opened the throttle, the plane began to move down the runway, quickly picking up speed.

As Murdock felt the wheels leave the ground, a strange feeling came over him. Suddenly, he knew that everything was going to be all right. Taking a deep breath, he let out a howl, as the plane rose into the sky.

**The End **

**A/N** – And so we reach the end. Thanks to all of you who have been reviewing. It was my pleasure to entertain you. To the rest of you who have been reading, if this story pleased you, I would love to hear from you. Until next time…Beware the jazz and embrace the crazy.


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